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THE  AMERICAN  SONGBAG 


By  Carl  Sandburg 

Biography 
ABRAHAM    LINCOLN 

Poems 

SMOKE  AND  STEEL 

SLABS  OF  TIIK  SUNBURNT  WEST 

CHICAGO  POKMH 

CORN  HUSKERS 

For  Young  People 
ROOTABAC A    STORI ES 
KOOTAHAOA    1'KIEONS 
THE   I'EOl'LE,   YKS 


The 

AMERICAN 
SONGBAG 


CARL  SANDBURG 


New  York 
HARCOURT,  BRACE  &  COMPANY 


roPvmoiiT,    1997,    11  Y 

RAlK'OrHT,     HH  \CK    AND     COMIMVY,     INO 


This  book  is  complete  and  unabridged. 
If  /r  manufactured  under  wartime  con- 
dilions  in  conformity  uilh  all  govern- 
ment regulations  controlling  the  UM-  of 
paper  and  other  materials. 


Dedicated 

TO    THOSE    UNKNOWN    SINGERS WHO    MADE    SONGS 

OUT    OF    LOVE,     FUN,     GRIEF AND     TO     THOSE    MANY 

OTHER  SINGERS WHO  KEPT  THOSE  SONGS   AS   LIVING 

THINGS    OF    THE    HEART    AND    MIND OUT    OF    LOVE, 

FUN,    GRIEF 


INTRODUCTION 

The  American  Songbag  is  a  ragbag  of  strips,  stripes,  and  streaks  of  color  from  nearly  all  ends  of 
the  earth.  The  melodies  and  verses  presented  here  are  from  diverse  regions,  from  varied  human 
characters  and  communities,  and  each  is  sung  differently  in  different  places. 

The  song  history  of  America,  when  some  day  it  gets  written,  will  accomplish  two  things.  It 
will  give  the  feel  and  atmosphere,  the  layout  and  lingo,  of  regions,  of  breeds  of  men,  of  customs  and 
slogans,  in  a  manner  and  air  not  given  in  regular  history,  to  be  read  and  not  sung.  And  besides, 
such  a  history  would  require  that  the  student  sing  his  way  through  most  of  the  chapters. 

If  and  when  such  history  is  written  it  will  help  some  on  the  point  registered  by  a  Yankee  phi- 
losopher that  there  are  persons  born  and  reared  in  this  country  who  culturally  have  not  yet  come 
over  from  Europe.  The  chronicle  would  include  that  quaint  commentary  from  the  Rio  Grande, 
"In  Mexico  nobody  knows  how  to  sing — and  everybody  sings!"  It  would  deal  with  minor  inci- 
dents, vivid  and  hilarious.  For  instance,  musical  Chicago  a  few  years  ago  looked  with  keen  interest 
on  a  lawsuit.  Two  composers  were  each  claiming  to  be  the  first  and  only  music  writer  to  score  the 
Livery  Stable  Blues.  On  the  witness  stand  the  plaintiff  testified  that  one  evening,  long  before  jazz 
had  become  either  a  vogue  or  an  epidemic,  his  orchestra  was  playing  in  a  cabaret,  "and  a  lady 
dancer  started  doing  some  fancy  steps,  and  I  picks  up  a  cornet  and  lets  go  a  few  pony  neighs  at  her. 
The  trombone  come  through  with  a  few  horse  laughs.  TUen  the  banjos,  cowbells,  and  sax  puts  in 
a  lot  of  'terplitations  of  their  own.  And  that  was  the  first  time  the  Livery  Stable  Blues  was  played." 

Thus  musical  history  in  America  already  has  its  traditions  and  controversies.  The  origin  of 
jazz  is  still  in  a  fog  of  wordy  disputation.  The  years  to  come  will  see  plenty  of  argument  on  other 
moot  matters. 

There  is  presented  herein  a  collection  of  280  songs,  ballads,  ditties,  brought  together  from  all 
regions  of  America.  The  music  includes  not  merely  airs  and  melodies,  but  complete  harmoniza- 
tions or  piano  accompaniments.  It  is  an  All-American  affair,  marshaling  the  genius  of  thousands 
of  original  singing  Americans. 

The  book  begins  with  a  series  of  Dramas  and  Portraits,  rich  with  the  human  diversity  of  the 
United  States.  There  are  Tarnished  Love  Tales  Told  in  Song,  or  Colonial  and  Revolutionary 
Antiques;  some  of  them  have  the  feel  of  black  walnut,  of  knickerbockers,  silver  shoe-buckles,  and 
the  earliest  colonial  civilization.  Out  of  the  section  of  Pioneer  Memories,  one  may  sing  with  the 
human  waves  that  swept  across  the  Alleghanies  and  settled  the  Middle  West,  later  taking  the 
Great  Plains,  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  west  coast.  That  notable  distinctive  American  institu- 
tion, the  black-face  minstrel,  stands  forth  in  a  separate  section.  There  are  groups  of  railroad, 
hobo,  work-gang,  steamboat  songs.  Seven  Mexican  border  songs  give  the  breath  of  the  people 
above  and  below  the  Rio  Grande.  Tunes  and  verses  are  given  from  the  camps  of  lumberjacks, 
loggers,  and  shanty-boys.  One  section  contains  ballads  chiefly  from  the  southern  mountains.  One 
called  Kentucky  Blazing  Star  has  the  largest  assemblage  of  interesting  Kentucky  ballads  and  songs 
that  has  been  put  between  the  covers  of  any  book.  Two  powerful  Great  Lakes  songs  are  given, 
"Bigerlow"  and  "Red  Iron  Ore,"  either  of  which  may  yet  rival  the  song  of  the  Volga  boatmen. 
One  section  is  titled  Picnic  and  Hayrack  Follies,  Close  Harmony,  and  Darn  Fool  Ditties.  The 
quaver  of  rare  Irish  lilts,  emigrants  to  the  States,  is  in  The  Ould  Sod.  A  little  series  of  exquisite 
musical  fragments,  light  as  gossamer  mist,  are  grouped  under  the  title,  Lovely  People.  The  book 
closes  with  a  list  of  spirituals  called  The  Road  to  Heaven. 

Probably  100  pieces,  strictly  folk  songs,  have  never  been  published;  they  have  been  gathered 
by  the  compiler  and  his  friends  from  coast  to  coast  and  from  the  Gulf  to  Canada.  First  of  all, 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

this  is  a  book  of  singable  songs.  It  is  for  the  library,  but  it  belongs  in  the  music  corner  of  the  library, 
or  on  the  piano,  or  on  the  back  porch,  or  at  the  summer  cottage,  or  at  the  camp,  or  wherever  people 
sing  songs  and  want  new  songs  to  sing. 

There  is  a  human  stir  throughout  the  book  with  the  heights  and  depths  to  be  found  in  Shake- 
speare. A  wide  human  procession  marches  through  these  pages.  The  rich  and  the  poor;  robbers, 
murderers,  hangmen;  fathers  and  wild  boys;  mothers  with  soft  words  for  their  babies;  workmen  on 
railroads,  steamboats,  ships;  wanderers  and  lovers  of  homes,  tell  what  life  has  done  to  them.  Love 
and  hate  in  many  patterns  and  designs,  heart  cries  of  high  and  low  pitch,  are  in  these  verses  and 
tunes.  There  are  low-keyed  lyrics,  brief  as  the  life  of  a  rose;  there  are  biographies  of  voyagers 
that  epitomize  long  novels  and  thick  log-books. 

This  is  precisely  the  sort  of  material  out  of  which  there  may  come  the  great  native  American 
grand  opera.  It  is  so  intensely  and  vitally  American  that  some  who  have  seen  the  book  have  sug- 
gested that  it  should  be  collateral  material  with  the  study  of  history  and  geography  in  schools, 
colleges,  and  universities;  the  pupils  or  students  might  &ing  their  answers  at  examination  time. 

"A  big  bandana  bundle  of  bully  ballads  for  big  boys  and  their  best  girls,"  was  the  comment 
of  one  who  read  the  Table  of  Contents.  Look  at  its  program.  Its  human  turmoil  is  terrific.  Blas- 
phemies from  low  life  and  blessings  from  high  life  for  baritone  or  soprano  are  brought  together. 
Puppets  wriggle  from  their  yesterdays  and  testify.  Curses,  prayers,  jigs  and  jokes,  mix  here  out 
of  the  blue  mist  of  the  past.  It  is  a  volume  full  of  gargoyles  and  gnomes,  a  terribly  tragic  book 
and  one  grinnirigly  comic;  each  page  lifts  its  own  mask.  It  is  as  ancient  as  the  medieval  European 
ballads  brought  to  the  Appalachian  Mountains;  it  is  as  modern  as  skyscrapers,  the  Volstead  Act, 
and  the  latest  oil-well  gusher.  Though  meant  to  be  sung,  it  can  be  read  and  is  a  glorious  anthology 
of  the  songs  that  men  have  sung  in  the  making  of  America. 

History,  we  may  repeat,  runs  through  this  book.  Yet  it  is  first  of  all,  we  say  again,  a  song- 
book  to  be  sung  rather  than  read.  Music  and  the  human  voice  command  this  parade  of  melodies 
and  lyrics.  They  speak,  murmur,  cry,  yell,  laugh,  pray;  they  take  roles;  they  play  parts;  in  topics, 
scenes,  and  "props"  they  range  into  anthropology,  houses,  machines,  ships,  railroad  trains,  churches, 
saloons,  picnics,  hayrack  and  steamboat  parties,  and  human  strugglers  chanting  farewell  to  the  frail 
frameworks  of  earthly  glory.  There  is  patter  and  jabber  of  vulgarity,  there  are  falsetto  mockers 
and  groaning  blasphemies,  there  is  moaning  of  prayers  and  tumult  and  shouting  of  faiths. 

Honest  workingmen  and  hardened  criminals  sing  their  lives;  beloved  vagabonds  and  miserable 
miscreants  are  here;  pretty  babies  and  tired  mothers,  bad  boys  and  anxious  fathers,  people  who 
are  fat,  rollicking  and  gay  along  with  restless  and  desperate  men  and  women;  they  stand  forth 
here  and  in  bright  ballads  or  melancholy  melodies  tell  what  life  has  done  to  them. 

The  American  Songbag  comes  from  the  hearts  and  voices  of  thousands  of  men  and  women. 
They  made  new  songs,  they  changed  old  songs,  they  carried  songs  from  place  to  place,  they  resur- 
rected and  kept  alive  dying  and  forgotten  songs. 

Ballad  singers  of  centuries  ago  and  mule-skinners  alive  and  singing  today  helped  make  this 
book.  Pioneers,  pick  and  shovel  men,  teamsters,  mountaineers,  and  people  often  called  ignorant 
have  their  hands  and  voices  in  this  book,  along  with  minstrels,  sophisticates,  and  trained  musicians. 
People  of  lonesome  hills  and  valleys  are  joined  with  "the  city  slicker,"  in  the  panorama  of  its  pages. 

The  American  scene  and  pageant  envisioned  by  one  American  singer  and  touched  off  in  one 
of  his  passages  is  measurably  vocal  here.  "Forever  alive,  forever  forward  they  go,  they  go,  I 
know  not  where  they  go,  but  I  know  that  they  go  toward  the  best,  toward  something  greato" 

viii 


PREFATORY  NOTES 

The  airs  and  verses,  tunes  and  words,  on  the  pages  herewith,  are  most  of  them  intended  to  be 
sung.  A  minor  portion  of  them  are  enduring  poems  of  lyric  or  narrative  value;  they  are.  worth 
reading  for  the  reading's  sake,  as  one  communes  with  books  worth  while.  Yet  even  with  such 
poems  there  is  an  added  lighting  or  tincture  given  them  if  the  air  is  hummed  or  the  poem  sung 
to  an  accompaniment. 

A  few  of  the  ballads  and  ditties  are  too  long  to  be  sung,  from  the  first  to  the  last  verse,  more 
than  once  a  year.  Only  by  singing,  however,  will  some  of  the  airs  and  verses  open  up  their  best 
slants  and  glimpses.  ' 

If  you  like  a  particular  air  and  would  rather  sing  it  in  a  way  you  have  found  or  developed  your- 
self, departing  from  the  musical  expressions  indicated,  making  such  changes  as  please  you  at  any 
given  moment,  you  have  full  authority  to  do  so.  We  quote  an  able  singer's  comment,  "Many 
a  modern  song  the  interpreter  looks  at  with  a  shudder.  Riddled  with  expression  marks  and  even 
breathing  marks,  hedged  in  with  arbitrary  directions,  radiating  polyglot  colloquialisms,  it  looks 
like  a  barbed-wire  entanglement.  Singer  and  accompanist  smile  at  one  another,  study  the  song 
as  a  whole,  and  sing  it  their  own  way." 

Some  of  our  songs  are  sublime;  some  are  silly.  Some  tell  of  lovable  eyes  and  hearts,  others  tell 
of  crimes  learned  of  in  grand  opera  or  read  about  in  daily  newspapers  or  in  the  classics  of  liter- 
ature. They  deal  with  a  panorama  of  events  and  people,  substance  and  shadow,  paunches  and 
fleshpots,  as  well  as  filaments  of  sunset  mist.  They  have  roles. 

Often  a  song  is  a  role.  The  singer  acts  a  part.  lie  or  she  is  a  story-teller  of  a  piece  of  action. 
Characters  or  atmosphere  are  to  be  delivered.  .  .  .  No  two  artists  deliver  a  role  in  the  same  way. 
Yet  all  good  artists  study  a  song  and  live  with  it  before  performing  it.  ...  There  is  something 
authentic  about  any  person's  way  of  giving  a  song  which  has  been  known,  lived  with  and  loved, 
for  many  years,  by  the  singer. 

Perhaps  I  should  explain  that  for  a  number  of  years  I  have  gone  hither  and  yon  over  the  United 
States  meeting  audiences  to  whom  I  talked  about  poetry  and  art,  read  my  verses,  and  closed  a 
program  with  a  half-  or  quarter-hour  of  songs,  giving  verbal  footnotes  with  each  song.  These 
itineraries  have  included  now  about  two-thirds  of  the  state  universities  of  the  country,  audiences 
ranging  from  3,000  people  at  the  University  of  California  to  30  at  the  Garret  Club  in  Buffalo, 
New  York,  and  organizations  us  diverse  as  the  Poetry  Society  of  South  Carolina  and  the  Knife 
and  Fork  Club  of  South  Bend,  Indiana.  The  songs  I  gave  often  reminded  listeners  of  songs  of  a 
kindred  character  they  knew  entirely  or  in  fragments;  or  they  would  refer  me  to  persons  who  had 
similar  ballads  or  ditties. 

In  the  arranging  of  a  song  I  would  usually  sing  it  for  the  composer — and  bring  out  my  note- 
book sketch,  a  rough  affair  rapidly  penciled  and  as  a  document  looking  rather  like  a  "shivaree" 
than  a  quiet  wedding.  The  composer  and  I  usually  collaborated  on  the  main  design  or  outline  of 
the  harmonization  or  accompaniment.  From  then  on  the  work  was  entirely  that  of  the  composer, 
except  in  a  number  of  instances  when  I  suggested  a  different  mood,  atmosphere  or  rhythm  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  the  song  as  I  had  customarily  heard  it.  The  words  "arranger"  (abbreviated 
as  Arr.)  and  "arrangement"  are  generally  employed  throughout  the  book.  The  musical  setting 
of  a  song  is  occasionally  an  elaborate  and  accomplished  harmonization.  Most  often,  however,  the 

ix 


PREFATORY  NOTES 

"arrangement"  is  a  simple  accompaniment.  (If  time  and  circumstance  had  permitted  there  would 
have  been  included  a  number  of  guitar,  accordion,  and  harmonica  accompaniments  for  the  port- 
able instruments.) 

Special  acknowledgments  are  made  to  Alfred  G.  Wathall,  to  Thorvald  Otterstrtfm,  to  Leo 
Sowerby,  and  to  Hazel  Felman  for  musical  settings,  for  counsel  and  guidance  at  points  where  their 
technical  skill  and  musical  experience  was  requested. 

Alfred  G.  Wathall  wrote  the  major  number  of  harmonizations;  he  had  the  gift  of  versatility 
requisite  for  the  treatment  of  such  a  varied  character  of  songs.  His  moods  of  work  and  methods 
of  approach  have  a  generous  gamut.  The  ways  of  his  heart  and  head  range  from  the  playboy 
who  pranks  as  he  pleases,  who  follows  the  gleam  of  the  whim  of  the  moment  whether  he  happens 
to  have  the  wishing  heart  of  an  innocent  child  or  the  tumultuous  thoughts  of  a  stranger  lost  in  the 
solitude  of  the  packed  traffic  on  a  big  city  street.  More  important  yet,  Wathall  is  the  cunning 
technician  familiar  with  all  the  classics,  exercising  a  gift  of  showmanship  in  behalf  of  a  humanity 
that  he  loves  with  laughter  and  tears.  He  knows  what  is  verandah  and  what  is  ashcan  in  the  realm 
of  music  and  can  mingle  them  with  effective  contrast.  His  "Music  Box"  and  "Arabian  Nights" 
creations  for  WGN,  the  Chicago  Tribune  radio  station,  for  which  he  is  the  master  arranger,  have 
had  a  remarkably  widespread  and  enthusiastic  audience.  His  "Sultan  of  Sulu"  music  was  the  work 
of  a  nineteen-year-old  genius.  The  touch  of  genius,  too,  goes  for  his  forty-minute  musical  setting 
of  that  trifling  tale  from  Rootabaga  Stories,  a  piece  of  puppetry  called  "The  Romance  of  the  Rag 
Doll  and  the  Brooin  Handle";  as  the  announcer  reads  the  story  there  are  accompaniments  and 
interspersals  of  music  from  a  chamber-music  orchestra. 

Leo  Sowerby  was  twenty-one  years  old  when  a  Chicago  orchestra  produced  a  concerto  for 
'cello  by  him  entitled  "The  Irish  Washerwoman."  He  took  a  favorite  folk  piece  of  American 
country  fiddlers,  a  famous  tune  of  the  pioneers,  and  made  an  interesting  experiment  and  a  daring 
adventure  with  it.  He  was  a  bandmaster  during  the  World  War.  Then  later  he  is  found  doing  a 
happy-go-lucky  arrangement  for  Paul  Whiteman's  orchestra;  it  may  be  an  exploit  in  "jazz"  or  pos- 
sibly a  construction  in  "the  new  music."  One  definite  thing  about  Sowerby  is  his  ownership  of 
himself,  his  acceptance  of  hazards.  He  is  as  ready  for  pioneering  and  for  originality  as  the  new 
century  of  which  he  is  a  part.  One  other  definite  thing  is  that  he  does  not  prize  seclusion  to  the 
point  where  he  is  out  of  touch  with  the  People.  Not  "the  peepul"  of  the  politicians,  nor  the  cus- 
tomers of  Tin  Pan  Alley,  but  rather  The  Folks,  the  common  human  stream  that  has  counted  im- 
mensely in  the  history  of  music.  We  reckon  it  a  privilege  that  Sowerby  could  undertake  the  musical 
settings  for  sixteen  of  our  songs. 

Thorvald  Otterstrorn  is  a  compound  of  toil,  technical  knowledge,  and  genius.  I  cannot  enu- 
merate nor  set  forth  here  anything  like  an  outline  of  the  ideas  and  projects  that  animate  him.  He 
is  encyclopedic  in  scope  of  knowledge.  I  cannot  mention  nor  discuss  intelligently  one  of  his  manu- 
scripts, a  scientific  treatise  of  technical  phases  of  music;  his  writings  have  to  be  wrestled  with  and 
are  tough  as  mathematics.  And  his  compositions  of  music  have  specimens  that  are  yet  to  be  written 
about,  both  simply  and  intricately,  as  work  that  has  come  from  a  temperament  of  fire  and  a  hand 
possessive  of  master  strokes. 

Hazel  Felman  (Mrs.  Jacob  R.  Buchbinder)  has  rare  adaptability  of  mood  and  technic,  has  ver- 
satility, and  has  ranged  widely  as  evidenced  in  her  song  air  and  musical  setting  of  Rudyard  Kipling's 
"Boots/*  made  known  to  a  wide  audience  through  the  singing  of  Reinald  Werrenrath,  and  later 


PREFATORY   NOTES 

a  fantastic  "March  of  the  Zizzies,"  based  on  a  breed  of  small  people  who  make  all  things  zigzag, 
as  told  in  the  affidavits  of  Rootabaga  Stories.    She  is  adaptive,  pictorial,  imaginative. 

We  could  write  a  considerable  little  book  about  the  ways  of  our  composers,  the  contralto  of 
Elizabeth  Carpenter  Marshall  crooning  her  airs  to  the  verses  of  Dorothy  K.  Aldis;  she  is  as  obedient 
to  her  inner  voices  as  her  uncle,  John  Alden  Carpenter.  We  could  mention  the  unmistakable  genius 
of  Henry  Joslyn  and  the  fighting  stride  of  some  of  his  cacophonic  speculations  as  played  by  Sto- 
kowski's  orchestra  on  the  one  hand  and  Whiteman's  on  the  other. 

The  versatile  Rupert  Hughes,  writer  of  novels  and  short  stories,  director  of  photoplays,  biog- 
rapher of  musicians,  biographer  of  George  Washington,  and  author  of  remarkably  free  and  inde- 
pendent essays  and  inquiries  into  human  credulity,  is  a  composer  of  music  which  the  house  of 
Sch inner  has  published.  The  latter  folios  include  airs  and  musical  settings  of  three  pieces  from 
Chicago  Poems  and  Cornhnskers.  It  was  natural  when  I  met  Hughes  in  his  Southern  California 
home  that  I  should  show  him  the  Mexican  songs  that  needed  harmonizations  for  our  fiesta. 

R.  W.  Gordon  placed  at  our  disposal  the  resources  of  his  immense  collection  of  old  songs  that 
men  have  sung.  His  fellowship  at  Harvard  University,  his  editorship  of  the  Adventure  Magazine 
department,  "Old  Songs  That  Men  Have  Sung,"  and  his  extended  series  of  articles  on  American 
folk  songs  in  the  New  York  Times,  resulted  in  his  being  in  touch  with  a  force  of  contributors  and 
correspondents  numbered  at  upwards  of  2,700.  His  travels  from  coast  to  coast,  his  meanderings 
in  a  motor  car  through  the  southern  states,  always  seeking  old  songs  or  characteristic  and  sig- 
nificant songs,  brought  about  a  collection  that  is  without  doubt  the  largest  assemblage  of  folk- 
song material  ever  gathered  by  any  one  person.  On  close  acquaintance  with  the  thorough  char- 
acter of  his  service,  his  intense  devotion  and  anxious  concentration  in  one  chosen  area  of  effort, 
the  extent  of  the  data  gathered,  one  realizes  that  Gordon's  work  is  monumental. 

Harry  M.  Gilbert,  half  a  New  Yorker  and  half  a  Paducah  KenLuckian,  was  an  adviser  on  points 
in  music,  texts,  and  general  drift  of  the  book.  Besides  his  classical  training,  his  musical  association 
with  Jess  Ricks,  the  Long  Island  fiddler,  was  of  advantage  in  scrutiny  of  folk  songs.  Alfred  Frank- 
enstein, author  of  the  book  Syncopating  Saxophones  and  other  kit-kats  in  musical  criticism,  was  an 
interested  counselor  from  the  start. 

Alexander  Hannah  of  Pasadena,  California,  Oliver  R.  Barrett  of  Chicago,  William  II.  Richard- 
son of  Jersey  City,  New  Jersey,  and  Dr.  Ernest  Horn  of  the  College  of  Education  of  the  University 
of  Iowa,  gave  the  use  of  scarce  books  on  old  minstrel  and  pioneer  songs. 

Our  illustrations  are  chiefly  from  songsters  and  broadsides  of  1840  and  1850.  A  few  are  from 
the  Family  Magazine  and  Harper's  New  Monthly  Magazine  of  that  period.  William  Gropper  is 
the  contributor  of  four  or  five  skits  pertinent  to  his  style  and  modernist  viewpoint.  Hans  Stengel 
furnished  the  silhouette  of  the  author  singing  and  driving  a  one-horse  milk  wagon.  Diego  Rivera 
of  Mexican  Folkways  did  the  line  drawing  with  his  initials  on  it. 

Thanks  are  due  that  sterling  Brooklyn  citizen,  W.  W.  Delaney,  who  for  twenty-two  years 
published  twice  a  year  a  ten-cent  sorigbook  containing  the  words  of  about  160  songs  in  each  number. 
He  looked  and  spoke  as  the  friendliest  of  men,  rich  with  memories  of  popular  songs,  song  writers, 
"pluggers"  and  publishers.  His  advice  to  me,  as  I  wrote  it  in  a  note-book  riding  the  subway,  was: 
"You  got  to  get  it  through  your  nut  there's  only  a  limited  amount  of  people  know  how  to  sing 
those  old  songs.  Take  those  songs  of  fifty  years  ago — who  knows  how  to  sing  them?  who  cares 
about  them?  The  people  you're  catering  to  have  never  heard  of  them.  That's  a  point  you've  got 
to  look  to." 

xi 


PREFATORY    NOTES 
DIALECT 

Dialects  in  the  United  States  are  many  and  various.  The  southern  states  have  several;  the 
daily  speech  and  the  common  idioms  of  South  Carolina,  Alabama,  and  Texas,  have  differences. 
The  lingo  of  mountaineers  is  not  the  same  in  all  Appalachian  regions.  The  cowboy  and  the  sheep- 
herder  are  as  far  apart  in  ways  of  talk  as  a  Chicago  newsboy  and  a  Santa  Fe  brakeman  running 
out  of  Albuquerque.  In  putting  dialects  into  print,  an  author  has  to  consider  how  it  may  help 
those  who  are  to  read  or  sing  it.  If  you  know  a  dialect  and  have  heard  it  from  living  people  you 
will  not  need  much  help  from  the  butcheries  of  words,  the  cleavages,  elisions,  and  apostrophes 
required  for  an  accurate  phonetic  record.  And  those  who  have  not  heard  a  certain  dialed;,  who 
must  get  acquainted  with  it  and  learn  to  pronounce  it  from  the  printed  page,  may  stumble  on 
difficulties.  The  word  "the"  in  different  cases,  according  to  the  way  it  is  spoken,  would  be  indi- 
cated as  (1)  the,  (2)  de,  (3)  thuh,  (4)  th',  (5)  t',  (6)  d',  (7)  duh.  Or  the  word  "here"  would  be 
indicated  as  (1)  here,  (2)  hyer,  (3)  hyeah,  (4)  hyar,  (5)  hyah,  (6)  yere,  (7)  hceyah.  Four  kinds 
of  the  word  "the"  are  in  the  negro  sentence,  "7"  fust  ting  he  knowed  thuh  p'lice  had  him  an*  de 
wagon  come  aroun*  duh  cornah."  Three  kinds  of  the  word  "here"  are  in  the  mountaineer  sen- 
tence, "Ilyeah  comes  dis  yere  Bill  Brown  up  dat  hyar  road."  Following  are  two  ways  of  writing 
a  verse  of  a  South  Carolina  spiritual,  one  in  dialect,  the  other  not: 

Stab  in  de  eas',  stall  in  de  wes',  Star  in  the  east,  star  in  the  west, 

Wish  dat  stah  wuz  in  mail  breas',  Wish  that  star  was  in  my  breast, 

Chu'eh  Ah  know  yuh  gonna  miss  me  w'en  Ahm  gawn.      Church,  I  know  you're  going  to  miss  me  when  I'm 

Wen  Ahm  gawn,  gawn,  gawn,  gone. 

W'en  Ahm  gawn  to  come  no  mo',  When  I'm  gone,  gone,  gone, 

Chu'ch,  Ah  know  ynh  gonna  miss  me  w'en  Ahm  gawn.      When  I'm  gone  to  come  no  more, 

Church,  I  know  you're  going  to  miss  me  when  I'm 
gone. 

AN   AMERICAN   BOOKSIIKLF    OF    SONG 

An  interesting  list  of  books  to  go  on  an  American  Bookshelf  of  Song  could  be  named.  It  would 
include  such  volumes  in  recent  years  as  Cowboy  Songs  and  Other  Frontier  Ballads  (Macmillan  & 
Co.),  by  John  A.  Lomax;  American  Songs  and  Ballads  (Charles  Scribner's  Sons),  by  Louise  A. 
Pound;  American-English  Folk-Songs  Collected  in  the  Southern  Appalachians  (G.  Schirrner),  by  Cecil 
J.  Sharp;  Folk-Songs  of  the  South  (Harvard  University  Press,)  edited  by  John  Harrington  Cox; 
Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  Shanty-Boy  (Harvard  University  Press),  by  Franz  Rickaby;  On  the  Trail , 
of  Negro  Folk  Songs  (Harvard  University  Press,  by  Dorothy  Scarborough;  The  Flying  Cloud,  pub- 
lished by  the  compiler,  M.  C.  Dean,  Virginia,  Minnesota;  Frontier  Ballads:  Songs  from  Lawless 
Lands  (Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.),  by  Charles  J.  Finger;  The  Book  of  Navy  Songs  (Doubleday,  Page 
&  Co.),  collected  by  The  Trident  Literary  Society  of  the  United  States  Naval  Academy  and  arranged 
by  Joseph  W.  Crosley;  Singing  Soldiers  (Scribner's),  by  John  J.  Niles;  Negro  Workaday  Songs  (Uni- 
versity of  North  Carolina  Press),  by  Howard  W.  Odum  and  Guy  B.  Johnson;  Mellows:  Work  Songs, 
Street  Cries,  and  Spirituals  (A.  &  C.  Boni),  by  R.  Emmet  Kennedy;  Roll  and  Go:  Songs  of  American 
Sailormen  (The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company),  by  Joanna  Colcord;  The  Land  of  Poco  Tiempo  (Scrib- 
ner's), by  Charles  Luminis;  Blues  (A.  &  C.  Boni),  by  W.  C.  Handy,  with  introduction  by  Abbe 
Niles;  Texas  and  Southwestern  Love  (Number  VI  of  Publications  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society), 
edited  by  J.  Frank  Dobie. 

xii 


PREFATORY   NOTES 

Files  of  the  Journal  of  the  American  Folk  Lore  Society,  and  such  freshly  original  publications 
as  those  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society,  contain  considerable  folk-song  material,  much  of  it  price- 
less. Besides  her  volume,  The  American  Indians  and  Their  Music  (The  Womans  Press),  Frances 
Densmore  has  presented  a  superb  array  of  studies  of  the  Red  Man  as  a  singer  in  her  volumes  pub- 
lished by  the  Bureau  of  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution;  the  songs  in  this  field  require  an  ex- 
ceptional practice  and  technic.  The  literature  on  the  negro  spiritual  and  its  songbooks  has  steadily 
grown  and  is  well  itemized  in  The  Negro  Year  Book.  For  a  gallantly  bantering  treatment  of  Amer- 
ican song  during  the  past  century  and  a  half,  with  merriment  over  the  changing  fads,  fashions, 
foibles,  and  formulas  of  commercialized  song,  Sigmund  Spaeth's  volume,  Read  9Em  and  Weep 
(Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.)>  is  worth  having. 

TOO   LATE    TO   CLASSIFY 

While  our  book  was  nearly  ready  for  press,  and  prefatory  notes  about  finished,  I  rambled 
through  1,300  pages  of  The  Unirersal  Songster,  published  in  London  1826-28,  and  found  there  a 
piece  which  should  have  been  included  in  our  folio  of  songs  known  among  the  Lincolns  and  Hankses. 
Dennis  Hanks,  a  cousin  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  when  queried  by  W.  H.  Herndon  as  to  what  songs 
were  known  to  their  families  in  southern  Indiana  in  the  18c20's,  mentioned  one  about  "The  tur- 
ban'd  Turk,  who  scorns  the  world  and  struts  about  with  his  whiskers  curled."  The  first  time  I 
met  the  words  of  this  song  was  in  the  above-named  book,  where  its  title  and  text  appear  as  follows: 

None  Can  Love  Like  an  Irishman 
(Collins) 

The  turban'd  Turk,  who  scorns  the  world, 
May  strut  about  with  his  whiskers  curled, 
Keep  a  hundred  wives  under  lock  arid  key, 
For  nobody  else  but  himself  to  see; 
Yet  long  may  he  pray  with  his  Alcoran 
Before  he  can  love  like  an  Irishman. 

The  gay  Monsieur,  a  slave  no  more, 
The  solemn  Don,  the  soft  Signor, 
The  Dutch  Mynheer,  so  full  of  pride, 
The  Russian,  Prussian,  Swede  beside — 
They  all  may  do  whatever  they  can, 
But  they'll  never  love  like  an  Irishman. 

The  London  folks  themselves  beguile, 
And  think  they  please  in  a  capital  style; 
Yet  let  them  ask,  as  they  cross  the  street, 
Of  any  young  virgin  they  happen  to  meet, 
And  I  know  she'll  say,  from  behind  her  fan, 
That  there's  none  can  love  like  an  Irishman. 

By  what  ways  this  ditty,  or  lines  of  it,  traveled  to  southern  Indiana  and  was  popular  in  corn- 
fields and  at  cross-roads,  we  may  leave  to  later  investigation.  It  is  evidence  that  metropolitan 
songs  may  take  long  migrations. 

Also  we  add  here  another  verse  of  the  song  "I  Met  Her  in  the  Garden  Where  the  Praties  Grow" 
in  the  folio  The  Quid  Sod.  It  goes— 

xiii 


PREFATORY    NOTES 

And  now  that  we  arc  married 

And  we're  blessed  with  children  three, 
Two  girls  just  like  their  mother 

And  the  boy  the  image  of  me — 
We'll  raise  them  up  so  neatly 

In  the  way  they  ought  to  go 
So  they'll  not  forget  the  garden 

Where  the  praties  grow. 

Strictly,  we  have  a  book  that  is  unfinished,  that  has  oddments  and  remainders,  that  has  tatters 
and  remnants,  elsewhere  and  far  away  in  many  ports  and  valleys. 


XIV 


DATA  CONCERNING  THE  COMPOSERS  AND  WRITERS  OF  MUSICAL 
SETTINGS,  HARMONIZATIONS,  AND  ACCOMPANIMENTS 


COLLINS,  EDWARD — Pianist,  composer,  Chicago. 
Born,  Joliet,  111.  Studied  piano  with  a  sister,  later 
with  Rudolph  Ganz.  Studied  composition  under  En- 
gelhert  Humpcrdinck  and  others  at  Royal  Academy, 
Berlin.  Toured  the  United  States  with  Ernestine 
Schumann-Heink,  1912-13.  Assistant  conductor, 
Century  Opera  Company,  New  York,  1913-14; 
Wagner  festival,  Bayreuth,  1914.  Has  appeared  as 
piano  soloist  and  guest  conductor  with  Chicago  and 
St.  Louis  Symphony  Orchestras.  Has  composed 
many  works  for  piano  and  for  orchestra.  Member  of 
faculty,  Chicago  Musical  College. 

CRAWFORD,  RUTH  PORTER— Composer,  Chicago. 
Born,  East  Liverpool,  Ohio.  Studied  pinuo  under 
Vallborg  Collett,  Jacksonville,  Fla.,  Bertha  Foster, 
Miami,  Louise  Robyn  and  Djane  Lavoie-Herz,  Chi- 
cago. Studied  theory  under  Adolph  Weidig,  Chicago. 
Member  of  faculty,  American  Conservatory,  Chicago. 
Composer  of  violin  sonata,  suite  for  small  orchestra, 
suite  for  wind  instruments  and  piano,  "Tom  Thumb'* 
suite  for  piano  solo,  songs,  preludes  for  piano.  Mem- 
ber, board  of  directors,  Pro  Musica  Society,  Chicago, 
non-resident  advisory  board,  New  Music  Society  of 
California,  Sigma  Alpha  Iota. 

EDSON,  CHARLES  FARWELL — Bass,  Chicago.  Born, 
San  Francisco.  Studied  under  Frederick  Buck,  Ella 
G.  Richards,  L.  G.  Gottschalk,  and  others.  D6but, 
Los  Angeles,  with  Los  Angeles  opera.  Sang  with 
Ferris  Ilartman  Opera  Company.  Conducts  private 
vocal  studio  in  Chicago.  Has  also  appeared  as  .actor. 
Composer  of  songs.  Member,  Gamut  Club,  Los 
Angeles,  Society  of  Amerieau  Musicians. 

FAWWELL,  ARTHUR — Composer.  Born,  St.  Paul, 
Minn.  Studied  engineering  at  Massachusetts  Insti- 
tute of  Technology.  Studied  music  under  Homer 
Norris  in  Boston,  Eiigelbert  Humperdinek  and  Hans 
Pfitzner,  in  Germany,  and  Alexandre  Guilmant  in 
Paris.  Member  of  faculty,  Cornell  University,  1899- 
1901.  Established  Wa-Wan  Press,  publishing  native 
American  works,  1901,  continuing  publication  to  1908. 
Correspondent,  Musical  America,  1909-15.  Has 
taught  at  Settlement  Music  School,  New  York,  and 
at  University  of  California.  Has  made  extensive 
studies  of  American  folk  music.  Composer  of  many 
works  on  folk  themes — American  Indian  Melodies, 
Folk  Songs  of  West  and  Sonth,  From  Mesa  and  J*lain, 
etc.,  all  for  piano  solo,  and  music  for  pageants  and 
plays.  Founder  and  director,  Theater  of  the  Stars, 
Big  Bear  Lake. 


PELMAN,  HAZEL  (Mrs.  J.  R.  Buchbinder) — Com- 
poser, Chicago.  Born,  Joliet,  Illinois.  Studied  under 
Thorvald  Otterstrdm.  Numerous  songs,  including  set- 
ting of  Kipling's  "Boots."  Concerto  for  piano  and 
orchestra.  "Legend"  for  violin  and  piano.  "March 
of  the  Zizzies."  Residence,  1137  E.  50th  St.,  Chicago, 
Illinois. 

GILBERT,  HARRY  M. — Organist,  pianist,  New  York. 
Born,  Paducah,  Ky.  Studied  under  Alberto  Jon&s, 
Hans  Pfitzner,  Max  Landow,  and  others,  in  New  York 
and  Berlin.  Organist  and  choir  director,  Fifth  Avenue 
Presbyterian  Church,  New  York.  Conductor,  Society 
of  American  Singers  and  Gilbert  Singers.  Director, 
Evercady  Hour.  Has  appeared  as  soloist  on  tour  with 
David  Bispham,  Maud  Powell,  Pablo  Casals,  Geral- 
dine  Farrar,  and  others.  Composer  of  songs,  piano 
pieces,  and  church  music. 

GOODMAN,  LILLIAN  ROSEDALE  (Mrs.  Mark  Good- 
man)—Born,  Mitchell,  S.  D.  Graduate  Institute  of 
Musical  Art,  New  York.  Studied  in  Europe  under 
Buzzi-Peccia.  Singer  with  Coit-Alber  Chautauqua 
bureau ;  in  duo  program  at  French  theater,  New  York; 
under  Shubert  direction  in  Hello  Alexander  and  lied 
Pepper,-  headliner  in  vaudeville  concert  program;  com- 
poser of  many  songs,  including  Cherie  I  Love  You, 
My  Heart  is  Sad,  Love's  Like  the  Robin,  Mammy's 
Precious  Pickaninny,  I  Found  You,  If  I  Could  Look 
Into  Your  Eyes.  Head  of  musical  booking  bureau, 
Capital  Building,  Chicago,  111. 

JOSLYN,  HENRY — Composer,  violinist,  conductor, 
New  York  City.  Born,  Elmira,  New  York.  Sym- 
phonic suite,  "Native  Moments,"  produced  by  Sto- 
kowski  and  Philadelphia  Orchestra;  Ganz  and  St. 
Louis  Symphony  Orchestra;  Stock  and  Chicago 
Symphony  Orchestra;  Nathaniel  Finston  and  Sunday 
Symphony  Concerts,  Chicago  Theatre  (premiere). 
Symphonic  silhouette,  "American  Sky  Lines,"  pro- 
duced by  Paul  Whiteman's  orchestra,  the  composer 
conducting.  Other  compositions :  three  symphonies-^ 
"War,"  "Pythagoras,"  "The  Symphony  of  the  Low- 
Downs";  "Red  White  and  Blues"  Symphony  (for 
Paul  Whiteman);  symphonic  odes — "Eulogy,"  "Joy," 
"The  Day  of  Days";  symphonic  suites — "The  Seven 
Ages  of  Man,"  "The  Melting  Pot,"  "Symphony 
Miniature,"  "Mitchie-Gaunee,"  "Fairy  Tales"; 
tone-poems — "Down  Wind,"  "Prairie,"  "Chicago"; 
concertos  for  piano,  violin,  'cello,  viola  (for  Louis 
Bailly);  string  quartet  in  C  Minor;  string  pieces — 
"Elation,"  "Once  Upon  a  Time,"  "Tryst." 


xv 


DATA   CONCERNING    THE    COMPOSERS   AND    WRITERS    OF   MUSICAL    SETTINGS 


KENNEDY,  R.  EMMET — Author,  pianist.  Born, 
Gretna,  Louisiana.  Author  of  three  books  of  sketches 
with  negro  folk  music:  "Black  Cameos,"  "Mellows," 
"Runes  and  Cadences;"  and  a  novel,  Gritny  People. 
In  reply  to  certain  queries,  Mr.  Kennedy  makes  free 
to  declare:  "My  voice  is  a  cross  between  a  tenor 
cricket  and  a  baritone  lizard.  Studied  under  myself 
and  God.  Name  of  present  and  former  managers: 
R.  Emmet  Kennedy." 

LYCHENHEIM,  MARION — Pianist,  Chicago.  Born, 
Philadelphia.  Studied  under  Mrs.  Crosby  Adams, 
Max  Kramm,  Heniot  Levy,  Jan  Chiapusso,  Adolph 
Weidig,  and  others.  Debut,  Chicago,  1915.  Has  ap- 
peared as  soloist  and  accompanist  with  Adolph 
Weidig,  Francis  Macniillen,  Lionel  Tort  is,  Jacques 
Gordon,  Florence  Macbeth,  Willy  Burmester,  and 
others.  Composer  of  string  quartet;  trio  for  violin, 
viola,  and  piano;  fugues  for  piano,  children's  songs, 
violin  and  violoncello  pieces.  Member,  Musicians' 
Club  of  Women,  Lake  View  Musical  Society,  Musical 
Guild,  MacDowell  Club. 

MARSHALL,  ELIZABETH  CARPENTER  (Mrs.  Thomas 
L.  Marshall) — Composer,  Lake  Forest,  Illinois.  Born, 
Winnetka,  Illinois.  Studied  under  Horace  Middleton, 
Ralph  Lawton,  Adolph  Weidig,  Thorvald  Otterstrom, 
Marta  Milinowski,  and  Luigi  Gulli.  Niece  of  John 
Alden  Carpenter.  Compositions  for  violin,  piano, 
voice.  Musical  settings  for  Dorothy  Aid  is*  children's 
poems.  Residence,  11  Scott  St.,  Lake  Forest,  111. 

NEMKOVSKY,  MOLLIE  (Mrs.  Ben  Abramson) — 
Pianist,  Chicago.  Studied  under  Karl  Reck/.eh. 
Played  in  concert  in  Northwest  States,  Canada  and 
Alaska  under  direction  of  Dominion  Concert  Bureau. 
Accompanist  of  her  brother,  Sol  Nemkovsky,  violinist, 
in  concerts. 

OTTERSTROM,  THORVALD — Composer,  pianist,  Chi- 
cago. Born,  Copenhagen,  Denmark.  Studied  under 
Sofie  Wenter,  St.  Petersburg,  Russia.  Devoted  to 
composition  and  theory.  Orchestral  compositions  per- 
formed by  Chicago,  Philadelphia,  New  York  and 
Copenhagen  Symphony  Orchestras.  Violin  and  piano 
sonata  and  'cello  piano  sonata  premieres  in  Chicago, 
1913  and  1915.  Piano  solo  compositions,  24  preludes 
and  fugues  and  6  concert  studies,  played  by  numerous 
artists  in  United  States  and  Europe.  Author  of  theo- 
retical works.  Residence,  1400  E.  59th  St.,  Chicago, 
Illinois. 

PARKS,  HENRY  FRANCIS — Organist,  conductor, 
Chicago.  Born,  Louisville,  Ky.  Studied  under  Leo 


Sowerby,  Karl  Schmidt,  Fisher  Thompson,  Ignacio 
Lazcano,  George  Rogovoy,  and  others.  Has  played 
and  conducted  at  many  theaters  in  the  West  and 
Middle  West.  Conducted  Buttc  Symphony  Orches- 
tra, Buttc,  Mont.  Taught  at  MacPhail  School,  Min- 
neapolis, and  conducted  Minneapolis  Lyceum  Sym- 
phony Orchestra,  1924-25.  Member  of  faculty, 
Chicago  Musical  College;  contributor  to  Band,  Or- 
chestra, Melody,  and  other  periodicals.  Author,  The 
Jazzology  of  Organ  Playing;  Tlie  Modern  Theater 
Organ.  Member,  American  Guild  of  Organists, 
American  Federation  of  Musicians. 

SOWERBY,  LEO — Composer,  Chicago.  Born,  Grand 
Rapids,  Mich.,  1895.  Studied  piano  under  Calvin 
Lampert,  theory  under  Arthur  Olaf  Andersen,  Amer- 
ican Conservatory,  Chicago.  Bandmaster  in  United 
States  army,  1918-19;  taught  theory  at  American 
Conservatory  to  1921.  Was  first  American  composer 
to  win  the  Prix  de  Rome,  1921,  and  lived  at  American 
Academy  in  Rome,  1921-23.  At  present,  teacher  of 
theory,  American  Conservatory,  Guhn  School,  Chi- 
cago, and  organist  and  choirmaster,  St.  James  Epis- 
copal Church,  Chicago.  Composer  of  symphony, 
concertos  for  piano,  for  violin,  and  for  violoncello, 
arrangements  of  folk  tunes  for  symphony  orchestra, 
symphonic  poems,  "King  Estmere"  for  two  pianos 
and  orchestra,  and  "Medieval  Poem"  for  organ  and 
orchestra,  many  smaller  works  for  string  quartet,  solo 
instruments,  organ,  voice,  and  jazz  orchestra. 

WATHALL,  ALFRED  GEORGE— Composer,  violinist, 
pianist,  organist,  conductor;  Chicago,  Illinois.  Born, 
Bulwell,  near  Nottingham,  England.  Came  to  Amer- 
ica with  parents  in  1890.  Studied  under  Franz  Esser, 
William  Middelschulte,  Peter  Christian  Lutkin;  and 
in  London,  England,  under  Sir  Charles  Villiers  Stan- 
ford arid  Sir  Frederick  Bridge.  At  the  age  of  twenty 
lie  composed  the  music  for  George  Ade's  musical 
comedy,  The  Sultan  of  Sulu,  which  ran  continuously 
for  seven  seasons.  Member  of  faculty,  Northwestern 
University  School  of  Music,  for  ten  years.  Composed 
and  conducted  cantata,  "Alice  Brand,"  Evanston, 
1903.  Other  compositions  include  two  operettas  and 
many  songs.  As  master-arranger  and  composer  for 
WGN,  the  Chicago  Tribune  radio  station,  1926  and 
1927,  put  on  the  air  original  musical  experiments  such 
as  a  Rhapsody  for  voices  and  orchestra,  based  on  the 
popular  tune  Valencia;  and  a  setting  of  Sandburg's 
Rootabaga  story,  "The  Wedding  of  the  Rag  Doll  and 
the  Broom  Handle." 


XVI 


Apologia 


I  APOLOGIZE  FOR  THE  IMPERFECTIONS  IN  THIS  WORK.  I  BELIEVE 
NO  ONE  ELSE  IS  NOW,  Ott  EVER  WILL  BE,  SO  DEEPLY  AWARE  AND 
SO  THOROUGHLY  AND  WIDELY  CONSCIOUS  OF  THE  IMPERFECTIONS 
IN  THESE  PAGES.  I  SHOULD  LIKE  TO  HAVE  TAKEN  TEN,  TWENTY, 
THIRTY  YEARS  MORE  IN  THE  PREPARATION  OF  THIS  VOLUME. 

MANY  CONSIDERATIONS  WHICH  HAVE  GOVERNED  THE  SELEC- 
TION OF  MATERIAL,  AND  THE  METHODS  OF  PRESENTATION,  ARE 
NOT  WORTH  SETTING  FORTH  IN  A  FOREWORD,  DECLARATION,  OR 
ARGUMENT;  THEY  WOULD  HAVE  VALUE  CHIEFLY  AND  ONLY  TO 
THOSE  WHO  ALREADY  UNDERSTAND  SOMEWHAT  THE  LABYRINTHS, 
THE  TWISTED  PATHWAYS,  AND  ROADS  OF  LIFE,  OUT  OF  WHICH 
THIS  BOOK  ISSUES. 

THE  BOOK  WAS  BEGUN  IN  DEPTHS  OF  HUMILITY,  AND  ENDED 
LIKEWISE  WITH  THE  MURMUR,  **GOD  BE  MERCIFUL  TO  ME,  A 
SINNER/'  IT  IS  A  BOOK  FOR  SINNERS,  AND  FOR  LOVERS  OF  HUMAN- 
ITY. I  APOLOGIZE  TO  THEM  FOR  THE  SINS.  OF  THE  BOOK  AND  THAT 
IT  LOVES  MUCH  BUT  NOT  ENOUGH. 

CARL  SANDBURG. 

Chicago,  1927 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


DRAMAS  AND  PORTRAITS 

HE'S  GONE  AWAY      3 
BOLL  WEEVIL  SONG      8 

MOANISH  LADY!    11 

I  RIDE  AN  OLD  PAINT      12 
FOGGY,  FOGGY  DEW      14 

WAILLIE,  WAILLIE!    16 

DIS  MORNIN',  DIS  EVENIN',  so  SOON    18 

OH,   BURY  ME   NOT   ON   THE  LONE  PRAIRIE      20 

CARELESS  LOVE       21 

THE  JOHN  B.  SAILS      22 

JOHN  HENRY      24 

MIDNIGHT  SPECIAL      26 

ALICE  B.      28 

PO'  BOY      30 

THE  OULD  SOD 

AS  i  WAS  WALKIN'  DOWN  WEXFORD  STREET    35 

SH-TA-RA-DAII-DEY  (iRISH  LULLABY)       36 

SHE  SAID  THE  SAME  TO  ME      38 

WHO'S  THE  PRETTY  GIRL  MILKIN'  THE  COW?      40 

GIVE  ME  THREE  GRAINS  OF  CORN,  MOTHER      41 

KEVIN  BARRY      42 

THE  SON  OF  A  GAMBOLIER      44 

MINSTREL  SONGS 

I  WISH  I  WAS  SINGLE  AGAIN      47 
WALKY-TALKY  JENNY      48 
HAYSEED      50 
GOOD-BY  LIZA  JANE      51 
WIZARD  OIL      52 

TARNISHED  LOVE  TALES  OR  COLONIAL 
AND  REVOLUTIONARY  ANTIQUES 

BARBRA  ALLEN      57 
THE  FROZEN  GIRL      58 
PRETTY  POLLY      60 
COMMON  BILL      62 
LITTLE  SCOTCII-EE      64 
THE  HOUSE  CARPENTER      66 
A  PRETTY  FAIR  MAID      68 


LORD  LOVEL    70 

THE  QUAKER'S  WOOING    71 

THE  MAID  FREED  FROM  THE  GALLOWS     72 

FRANKIE  AND  HER  MAN 

FRANKIE  AND  ALBERT      75 
FRANKIE  AND  JOHNNY      78 
FRANKIE  BLUES      82 
JOSIE      84 
SADIE      86 

PIONEER  MEMORIES 

THE  LITTLE  OLD  SOD  SHANTY      89 

WHERE  O  WHERE  IS  OLD  ELIJAH?      92 

TURKEY  IN  THE  STRAW      94 

WHO  WILL  SHOE  YOUR  PRPJTTY  LITTLE  FOOT?    98 

THE  TRUE  LOVER'S  FAREWELL      98 

FAIR  ANNIE  OF  LOCIIYRAN      99 

TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY      100 

OLD  GRAY  MARE    102 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  DOOM    104 

WHAT  WAS  YOUR  NAME  IN  THE  STATES?    106 

SWEET  BETSY  FROM  PIKE      107 
CALIFORNIA      110 

THE  BANKS  OF  SACRAMENTO      112 
MONEY      112 

THE  MONKEY'S  WEDDING    113 
ROSIE  NELL    1 14 
CHICKEN  REEL    116 

HANGING  OUT  THE  LINEN  CLOTHES      117 
DOWN,  DOWN  DERRY  DOWN      118 
THE  LANE  COUNTY  BACHELOR      120 

KENTUCKY  BLAZING  STAR 

SOUR  WOOD  MOUNTAIN      125 
THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT      126 
HELLO,  GIRLS      128 
KANSAS  BOYS      129 
RED  RIVER  VALLEY      130 
LIZA  JANE      1 32 
MOUNTAIN  TOP      133 


XIX 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


NEGRO  REEL    134 

ONE  MORNING  IN  MAY    136 

THE  TROUBLED  SOLDIER    137 

POST-RAIL  SONG    138 

HAMMER  MAN    139 

LOVE  SOMEBODY,  YES  I  DO    140 

AIN'T  GONNA  RAIN    141 

KENTUCKY  MOONSHINER      142 

MISTER  FROG  WENT  A-COURTING       143 

KIND  MISS      144 

COIN*  DOWN  TO  TOWN      145 

THE  SHIP  THAT  NEVER  RETURNED      146 

DOWN  IN  TH'K  VALLEY    148 

I  DREAMED  LAST  NIGHT  OF  MY  TRUE  LOVE 

DRIVIN'  STEEL    150 


THE  LINCOLNS  AND  HANKSES 

THE  MISSOURI  HARMONY      152 
WINDSOR      153 
GREENFIELDS      154 
WORTHINGTON      154 
HIGHBRIDGE      155 
LEGACY       155 

THE  BROWN  GIRL  OR  FAIR  ELEANOR      156 
HEY  BETTY  MARTIN      158 
OLD  BRASS  WAGON      159 
CUCKOO  WALTZ      160 
WEEVILY  WHEAT      161 
EL-A-NOY      162 
HOOSEN  JOHNNY      164 
MY  PRETTY  LITTLE  PINK      166 
LINCOLN  AND  LIBERTY      167 

OLD  ABE  LINCOLN  CAME  OUT  OF  THE  WILDER- 
NESS     168 

GREAT  LAKES  AND  ERIE  CANAL 

THE  ERIE  CANAL   171 
BIGERLOW   174 
RED  IRON  ORE   176 
RAGING  CANAWL   178 
THE  E-RI-E   180 


HALLELUJAH,  I'M  A  BUM!      184 

TRAMP,   TRAMP,   TRAMP,   KEEP  ON  A-TRAMPING 

186 
THE  DYING  HOGOER      186 

WANDERIN*    188 

A.  R.  IT.   190 

WE  ARE  FOUR  BUMS   192 

THE  BIG  BRUTAL  CITY 

THE  POOR  WORKING  GIRL      195 

ROLL  THE  CHARIOT      196 

BRADY      198 

ON  TO  THE  MORGUE      199 

IT'S  THE  SYME  THE  WHOLE  WORLD  OVER      200 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD  RAMESES      202 

THE  GOOD  BOY      203 

WILLY  THE  WEEPER      204 

COCAINE  LIL      206 

SHE  PROMISED  SHE*D  MEET  ME      207 

NO  MORE  BOOZE  (FIREMAN  SAVE  MY  CHILD)     208 

LYDIA  PINKIIAM      210 

PRISON  AND  JAIL  SONGS 

BIRD  IN  A  CAGE      213 

YONDER  COMES  THE  HIGH  SHERIFF      213 

PORTLAND  COUNTY  JAIL      214 

MOONLIGHT     216 

MIDNIGHT  SPECIAL  (2)       217 

SEVEN  LONG  YEARS  IN  STATE  PRISON      218 

WHEN  I  WAS  YOUNG  AND  FOOLISH      219 

BEEN  IN  THE  PEN  SO  LONG      220 

THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  SLAVE 


HOBO  SONGS 

SHOVELLIN'  IRON  ORE 


183 


BLUES,  MELLOWS,  BALLETS 

LEVEE  MOAN    225 

THOSE  GAMBLER'S  BLUES    228 

GOT  DEM  BLUES    232 

DE  BLUES  AIN'  NOTHIN*      234 
WHEN  A  WOMAN  BLUE      236 

coo-coo  (PEACOCK  SONG)    237 

GREAT  GAWD,  I'M  FEELIN*  BAD 

O  MY  HONEY,  TAKE  ME  BACK      239 

WHAT     KIN*     O*     PANTS     DOES    THE    GAMBLER 

WEAR?      240 
JOE  TURNER     $41 


XX 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 


TIMES  GETTIN'  HARD,  BOYS 

I'M  SAD  AND  I'M  LONELY 
C.  C.  RIDER      246 
YOU  FIGHT  ON     248 

SATAN'S  A  LIAH    250 

BALLET  OF  DE  BOLL  WEEVIL    252 

DE  TITANIC 


THE  GREAT  OPEN  SPACES 

WHEN   THE    CURTAINS    OF   NIGHT   ARE    PINNED 

BACK      259 

WHEN  THE  WORK'S  ALL  DONE  THIS  FALL      260 
AS  I  WALKED  OUT  IN  THE  STREETS  OF  LAREDO 

263 

THE  DREARY  BLACK  HILLS      264 
THE  LONE  STAR  TRAIL      266 
WHOOPEE    TI    YI    YO,    GIT    ALONG     LITTLE     DO- 

GIES     268 

THE  BUFFALO  SKINNERS      270 
POOR  LONESOME  COWBOY      273 
THE  TENDERFOOT      274 
LITTLE  All  SID      276 
THE  KINKAIDERS      278 
DAKOTA  LAND      280 
THE  FARMER      282 
RABBLE  SOLDIER      284 
THE  TRAIL  TO  MEXICO      285 

MEXICAN  BORDER  SONGS 

LA  CUCARACHA  (MEXICAN  COCKROACH  SONG) 

289 

MANANITAS  (DE  JALISCO)      292 

LO  QUE  DIGO      294 

EL  ABANDONADO      295 

CIELITO  LINDO      298 

ADELITA      300 

VERSOS  DE  MONTALGO     302 

SOUTHERN  MOUNTAINS 

WAY  UP  ON  CLINCH  MOUNTAIN    307 

LIZA  IN  THE  SUMMER  TIME  (SHE  DIED  ON  THE 

TRAIN)    308 

COON  CAN  (POOR  BOY)    310 
GYPSY  DAVY    311 


THE  ROVING  GAMBLER    312 

YONDER  COMES  MY  PRETTY  LITTLE  GIRL    313 

THE  GAMBOLING  MAN    313 

0  BURY  ME  BENEATH  THE  WILLOW    314 
MAG'S  SONG    316 

THE  ORPHAN  GIRL  OR  NO  BREAD  FOR  THE  POOR 

319 

1  GOT  A  GAL  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOLLER      320 
LONESOME  ROAD      322 

FOND  AFFECTION      323 

GO  BRING  ME  BACK  MY  BLUE-EYED  BOY      324 

LONDON  CITY      324 

THE  MIDNIGHT  TRAIN      325 

I  DON'T  LIKE  NO  RAILROAD  MAN      326 

PICNIC  AND  HAYRACK  FOLLIES,  CLOSE 
HARMONY,  AND  DARN  FOOL 
DUTIES 

SUCKING  CIDER  THROUGH  A  STRAW      329 

DID  YOU  EVER,  EVER,  EVER?      329 

I    WAS    BORN    ALMOST    TEN    THOUSAND    YEARS 

AGO      330 

GO  GET  THE  AX      332 
ABA  LONE      333 
IN  DE  VINTER  TIME      334 
CIGARETTES  WILL  SPOIL  YER  LIFE      335 
MARY  HAD  A  WILLIAM  GOAT      336 
I  WISH  I  WAS  A  LITTLE  BIRD      338 
OLD  ADAM      339 
THE  HORSE  NAMED  BILL      340 
CRAZY  SONG  TO  THE  AIR  OF  "DIXIE"      342 
A  BOY  HE  HAD  AN  AUGER      343 
ABDUL,  THE  BULBUL  AMEER     344 
GREENS      347 
ANIMAL  FAIR      348 
CALLIOPE      349 
SI  HUBBARD      350 

RAILROAD  AND  WORK  GANGS 

BOLSUM  BROWN      355 

POOR  PADDY  WORKS  ON  THE  RAILWAY      356 

THE  RAILROAD  CARS  ARE  COMING      358 

JERRY,  GO  AN*  ILE  THAT  CAR      360 

IF  I  DIE  A  RAILROAD  MAN      362 


XXI 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 


CAP'N  i  BELIEVE    3G3 

JAY  GOULD'S  DAUGHTER  AND  ON  THE  CHAHL1E 

so  IX)  NO     364 

CASEY  JONES     36 6 

MAMA  HAVE  YOU  HEARD  THE  NEWS?    368 

DON'  LET  YO'  WATCH  RUN  DOWN    370 

THERE'S  MANY  A  MAN  KILLED  ON  THE  RAIL- 
ROAD 371 

SHE'LL  BE  COMIN'  ROUND  THE  MOUNTAIN    372 

I  WENT  DOWN  TO  THE  DEPOT    374 

EVER  SINCE  UNCLE  JOHN  HENRY  BEEN  DEAD 
376 

GO  'WAY  F'OM  MAII  WINDOW    377 

MY  LULU    378 

THE  WIND  IT  BLEW  UP  THE  RAILROAD  TRACK 

379 

HOG-EYE      380 

MY  SISTER  SHE  WORKS  IN  A  LAUNDRY      381 
I  FOUND  A  HORSE  SHOE      382 
RAILROAD  HILL      384 
HANGMAN      385 
TIMBER      386 

LUMBERJACKS,  LOGGERS,  SHANTY- 
BOYS 

JAMES  WHALAND      389 

THE  SHANTY-MAN'S  LIFE    390 

FLAT  RIVER  GIRL     392 

THE  JAM  ON  GERRY'S  ROCK    394 

DRIVING  SAW-LOGS  ON  THE  PLOVER    396 

MORRISSEY  AND  THE  RUSSIAN  SAILOR    398 

MULE  SKINNER'S  SONG    400 

SAILORMAN 

WHISKY  JOHNNY      403 

BLOW  THE  MAN  DOWN      404 

THE  DEAD  HORSE      406 

HEAVE  AWAY      407 

THE  WIDE  MIZZOURA      408 

I  CATCII-A  DA  PLENTY  OF  FEESH      409 

THE  HOG-EYE  MAN      410 

LEAVE  HER,  BULLIES,  LEAVE  HER 

ACROSS  THE  WESTERN  OCEAN 


BANDIT  BIOGRAPHIES 

JIM  F1SK       416 
JESSE  JAMES      4%0 
SAM  BASS      422 

FIVE  WARS 

THE   HUNTERS   OF  KENTUCKY   OR   HALF   HORSE 

AND  HALF  ALLIGATOR      4%7 
JACKSON      430 
POOR  KITTY  POPCORN      431 
THERE  WAS  AN  OLD  SOLDIER      432 
A  FILIPINO  IIOMBRE      434 

THE  SERGEANT,  HE  IS  THE  WORST  OF  ALL      435 
WRAP   ME    UP    IN    MY    TARPAULIN   JACKET   AND 

THE  HANDSOME  YOUNG  AIRMAN      436 
A  WAR  BIRD'S  BURLESQUE      438 
H1NKY  DINKY,  PARLEE-VOO      44® 
WHERE  THEY  WERE      442 
THE  HEARSE  SONG      444 

LOVELY  PEOPLE 

MAN  GOIN'  ROUN'     447 

ALL  NIGHT  LONG    448 

ZEK'L  WEEP    449 

I  KNOW  MOONLIGHT    451 

BLIND  MAN  LAY  BESIDE  THE  WAY    452 

BY'M  BY    453 

GO  TO  SLEEPY    4&4 

JUNGLE  MAMMY  SONG      455 

TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY  FROM  HOME      456 
MY  OLD  HAMMAII      457 
CHAHCOAL  MAN      4^9 
THE  WEAVER      460 
THE  COLORADO  TRAIL      462 

I  MET  HER  IN   THE   GARDEN   WHERE  THE  PRA- 
TIES GROW      463 
SOMEBODY      464 

I  DON'T  WANT  TO  BE  A  GAMBLER      465 
WHEN  POOR  MARY  CAME  WANDERING  HOME    466 

ROAD  TO  HEAVEN 

JESUS,  WON'T  YOU  COME  B'M-BY?    469 
DESE  BONES  GWINE  TO  RISE  AGAIN 


XXH 


TABLE   OF    CONTENTS 

TWO  WHITE  HORSES      472  THINGS  I  USED  TO  DO      482 

WAY  OVER  IN  THE  NEW  BURYIN*  GROUN*  473  IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE      483 

MARY  WORE  THREE  LINKS  OF  CHAIN      474  STANDIN*  ON  THE  WALLS  OF  ZION      484 

PHARAOH'S  ARMY  GOT  DROWNDED     476  •   A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO     485 

GOOD-BYE,  BROTHER   477  YOU  GOT  TO  CROSS  IT  FOH  YOHSELF   486 

GOD'S  GOIN'  TO  SET  THIS  WORLD  ON  FIRE  478         i  GOT  A  LETTER  FROM  JESUS    487 

AIN'  GOV  TO  STUDY  WAR  NO  MO*       480  EZEKIEL,  YOU  AND  ME      488 

INDEX      493 


xxin 


DRAMAS  AND  PORTRAITS 


HE  S  GONE  AWAY 

BOLL  WEEVIL  SONG 

MOANISII  LADY! 

I  RIDE  AN  OLD  PAINT 

FOGGY,  FOGGY  DEW 

WAILLIE,  WAILLIE! 

DIS  MORNIN',  DIS  EVENIN',  so  SOON    . 

OH,  BURY   ME   NOT   ON   THE   LONE   PRAIRIE 

CARELESS   LOVE 

THE  JOHN   B.  SAILS 

JOHN   HENRY      

MIDNIGHT    SPECIAL 

ALICE   B 

PO'  BOY 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAGE 

Leo  Sowerby 3 

Hazel  Felman         ....  8 

Henry  Francis  Parks     .       .       .  11 

Hazel  Felman         .       .       .       .  12 

Henry  Joslyn          ....  14 

Henry  Joslyn          ....  16 

Hazel  Felman         .       .       .       .  18 

Hazel  Felman         ....  20 

Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  21 

Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  22 

Thorvald  Otterstrom        ...  24 

Henry  Joslyn  2(5 

Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  28 

Lillian  Rosedale  Goodman     .        .  30 


The  world  grows  more  majestic  but  man  diminishes.  Why  is  this? — We  carry  within  us  greater 
things  than  the  Greeks,  but  we  ourselves  are  smaller.  It  is  a  strange  result.  .  .  .  The  whole  secret 
of  remaining  young  in  spite  of  years,  and  even  of  gray  hairs,  is  to  cherish  enthusiasm  in  one's  self 
by  poetry,  by  contemplation,  by  charity.  .  .  .  The  modern  haunters  of  Parnassus  carve  urns  of 
agate  and  of  onyx;  but  inside  the  urns  what  is  there?  Ashes.  Their  work  lacks  feeling,  seriousness, 
sincerity,  and  pathos — in  a  word,  soul  and  moral  life.  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  sympathize  with 
such  a  way  of  understanding  poetry.  The  talent  shown  is  astonishing,  but  stuff  and  matter  are 
wanting.  It  is  an  effort  of  the  imagination  to  stand  alone — a  substitute  for  everything  else.  We 
find  metaphors,  rhymes,  music,  color,  but  not  man,  not  humanity.  Poetry  of  this  factitious  kind 
may  beguile  one  at  twenty,  but  what  can  one  make  of  it  at  fifty?  It  reminds  me  of  Pergamos, 
Alexandria,  of  all  the  epochs  of  decadence  when  beauty  of  form  hid  poverty  of  thought  and  exhaus- 
tion of  feeling.  I  strongly  share  the  repugnance  which  this  poetical  school  arouses  in  simple  people. 
It  is  as  though  it  only  cared  to  please  the  world-worn,  the  over-subtle,  the  corrupted,  while  it  ignores 
all  normal  healthy  life,  virtuous  habits,  pure  affections,  steady  labor,  honesty,  and  duty.  It  is 
an  affectation,  and  because  it  is  an  affectation  the  school  is  struck  with  sterility.  The  reader  desires 
in  the  poet  something  better  than  a  juggler  in  rhyme,  or  a  conjurer  in  verse;  he  looks  to  find  in 
him  a  painter  of  life,  a  being  who  thinks,  loves,  and  has  a  conscience,  who  feels  passion  and  repent- 
ance. FREDERICK  AMIEL. 


HE'S  GONE   AWAY 


This  is  an  arrangement  from  a  song  heard  by  Charles  Rockwood  of  Geneva,  Illinois,  during 
a  two-year  residence  in  a  mountain  valley  of  North  Carolina.  It  stages  its  own  little  drama  and 
characters.  The  mountain  called  Yandro  was  the  high  one  of  this  valley.  A  "desrick,"  Mr. 
Rockwood  was  told,  is  a  word  for  our  shack  or  shanty.  The  song  is  of  British  origin,  marked  with 
mountaineer  and  southern  negro  influences.  Other  mountain  places  in  the  southern  states  have 
their  song  about  going  away  ten  thousand  miles;  this  one  weaves  in  the  exceptional  theme  of  the 
white  doves  flying  from  bough  to  bough  and  mating,  "so  why  not  me  with  mine?"  Mr.  Sowerby 
was  lighted  with  a  rich  enthusiasm  about  this  song  and  has  met  its  shaded  tones  with  an  accom- 
paniment that  travels  in  fine  companionship  with  the  singer. 

Not  too  slow  and  not  too  strict  An*.  L.  S. 


I'm  goin'  a-  way     for   to  stay  a    lit  -  tie  while,      But  I'm  comin'  back  if    I    go 

„__«»__ * _* *  •*•          *      .* A_ 

^Spp^--— f- 


ten  thou-sand   miles.     . 

fct* 


Oh,  who  will  tie  your  shoes?        And  who  will  glove  your 


gEfe^g 


=g^al 


hands?         And  who  will  kiss  your  ru  -  by  lips  when    I      am  gone? 


Oh,  it's 


HE'S  GONE  AWAY 


~1 I 

?~3 


pap  -  py'll      tie        my    shoes, 


^ 


js[    k~ 


And  mam -my '11   glove    my    hands, 


And 


A 


you    will  kiss  my     ru  -  by     lips  when  you  come     back !     . 


Oh,  he's 


gone,  he  s  gone      a  -  way,         Jbor     to     stay      a       lit  -   tie    while; 


^F=^- 


i^te=e=«Ur^M= 


"T~..   I — 5 

I^tJIZ^:=EEl 


But  he*s  coin-in*  back       if    he  goes     ten  thou-sand  miles. 


Look  a  -  way,     . 


1"  --  11 


JO 


-^ 


HE'S  GONE  AWAY 


.     .         look      a  -  way 


o  -  ver    Yan   -  dro, 


On       Yan   -  dro's        high  hill, 


where   them     white  doves      are 

* 


fly  -  in'  From  bough  to   bough   and    a  -  mat  -  in*   with  their  mates,  So    why    not   me 

if:^EE*~^??^^ 


r 


r 


with  mine? 


For  he's  gone,      oh,  he's  gone    a -way     For  to   stay    a     lit  -  tie 


retarding 


f)f)  in  time 


HE'S  GONE  AWAY 


while,          But  he's  com  -  in'  back      if      he    goes    ten  thou-sand    miles.     .  I'll      go 


T=J-  T?^ 


build  me    a    des-rick    on  Yan-dro's  high,    hill,      Where  the  wild  beasts  won't  bother  me 


^^^^^fi^^^^^:^ 


nor  hear  my    sad    cry;  For  he's  gone,  he's  gone  a -way     for    to  stay     a     lit -tie 


1 


-J          -TC^j*^F.»~~^~~^=^rjL  ~\   ]-—  k       | -rr_...  _zpzr— -rrzrrn 

^3EgHg4^^fc^&z^^E^L-^^r4^p^y» |j 


while,      But  he's  com-in'  back     tf     he  goes    ten  thou-sand    miles. 


is* 


I 


f>f>f>        /TN 


ES 


f=f=^g^F--=O: 


HE'S  GONE  AWAY 

I'm  goin*  away  for  to  stay  a  little  while, 

But  I'm  comin'  back  if  I  go  ten  thousand  miles. 

Oh,  who  will  tie  your  shoes? 

And  who  will  glove  your  hands? 

And  who  will  kiss  your  ruby  lips  when  I  am  gone? 

Oh,  it's  pappy '11  tie  my  shoes, 

And  mammy '11  glove  my  hands, 

And  you  will  kiss  my  ruby  lips  when  you  come  back! 

Oh,  he's  gone,  he's  gone  away, 

For  to  stay  a  little  while; 

But  he's  comin*  back  if  he  goes  ten  thousand  miles. 


Look  away,  look  away,  look  away  over  Yandro, 
On  Yandro's  high  hill,  where  them  white  doves  are  flyin' 
From  bough  to  bough  and  a-matin'  with  their  mates, 
So  why  not  me  with  mine? 

For  he's  gone,  oh  he's  gone  away 

For  to  stay  a  little  while, 

But  he's  comin'  back  if  he  goes  ten  thousand  miles. 

I'll  go  build  me  a  desrick  on  Yandro \s  high  hill, 
Where  the  wild  beasts  won't  bother  me  nor  hear  my  sad  cry; 
For  he's  gone,  he's  gone  away  for  to  stay  a  little  while, 
But  he's  comin'  back  if  he  goes  ten  thousand  miles. 


BOLL  WEEVIL   SONG 


A  boll  weevil  couple,  arriving  in  a  cotton  field  in  the  springtime,  will  have,  by  the  end  of  summer, 
more  than  twelve  million  descendants  to  carry  on  the  family  traditions.  So  it  is  estimated.  They 
are  a  species  of  creatures  among  whom  there  is  no  talk  at  all  about  "  the  first  families."  The  billion 
dollar  devastations  of  this  little  eater  of  cotton  crops  are  of  America's  traditions  of  tragedy.  J. 
Russell  Smith,  the  geographer,  says  the  economic  loss  caused  by  the  boll  weevil  equals  in  amount 
that  of  the  four  year  war  in  the  'sixties.  John  Lomax  first  sang  this  for  the  present  writer,  and  of 
four  different  airs  and  sets  of  words  the  Lomax  version  is  the  most  important;  the  other  boll  weevil 
songs  are  worth  printing,  however,  for  artistic  and  scientific  purposes.  I  have  known  this  song 
for  eight  years,  since  the  year  John  Lomax  and  his  family  lived  in  Indian  Hill,  Illinois,  and  it  never 
loses  its  strange  overtones,  with  its  smiling  commentary  on  the  bug  that  baffles  the  wit  of  man,  with 
its  whimsical  point  that  while  the  boll  weevil  can  make  a  home  anywhere  the  negro,  son  of  man, 
hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head,  and  with  its  intimation,  perhaps,  that  in  our  mortal  life  neither  the 
individual  human  creature,  nor  the  big  human  family  shall  ever  find  a  lasting  home  on  the  earth. 
Elements,  weather,  crop  gambling,  fate,  Lady  Luck,  flit  in  the  backgrounds.  It  is  a  paradoxical 
blend  of  moods:  quickstep  and  dirge,  hilarious  defiance  and  bowed  resignation. 


Lively  with  overtones  of  pathos 


Arr.  II.  F. 


Oh,de  boll  wee-  vil  am      a    lit-  tie  black  bug,Come  from  Mex-i-  co,  dey   say,     Come 


all     de   way     to   Tex  -  as      jus'     a  -  look-in*  foh   a  place  to     stay,  Jus'  a  -  look-in'  f oh  a 


8 


BOLL  WEEVIL  SONG 


Last  ending 


i 


PP 


home,. 


jus'     a  -  look  -  in'    foh     a         home. 


m 


1 


=3= 


1  Oh,  de  boll  weevil  am  a  little  black  bug, 

Come  from  Mexico,  dey  say, 

Come  all  de  way  to  Texas,  jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  place  to  stay, 
Jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  home,  jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  home. 

2  De  first  time  I  seen  de  boll  weevil, 

He  was  a-settin'  on  de  square. 

De  next  time  I  seen  de  boll  weevil,  he  had  all  of  his  family  dere. 
Jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  home,  jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  home. 

3  De  farmer  say  to  de  weevil : 

"  What  make  yo'  head  so  red?" 

De  weevil  say  to  de  farmer,  *'  It's  a  wondah  I  ain't  dead, 
A-lookin'  foh  a  home,  jus'  a-lookin'  foh  a  home." 

4  De  farmer  take  de  boll  weevil, 

An'  he  put  him  in  de  hot  san*. 

De  weevil  say:  "  Dis  is  mighty  hot,  but  I'll  stan'  it  like  a  man, 
Dis'll  be  my  home,  it'll  be  my  home." 

5  De  fanner  take  de  boll  weevil, 

An'  he  put  him  in  a  lump  of  ice; 

De  boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer:  "  Dis  is  mighty  cool  and  nice, 
It'll  be  my  home,  dis'll  be  my  home." 

6  De  farmer  take  de  boll  weevil, 

An'  he  put  him  in  de  fire. 

De  boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer:  "Here  I  are,  here  I  are, 
Dis'll  be  my  home,  dis'll  be  my  home." 


0 


BOLL  WEEVIL  SONG 

7  De  boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer: 
"  You  better  leave  me  alone; 

I  done  eat  all  yo'  cotton,  now  I'm  goin'  to  start  on  yo'  corn, 
I'll  have  a  home,  I'll  have  a  home." 


8  De  merchant  got  half  de  cotton, 

De  boll  weevil  got  de  res'. 

Didn't  leave  de  farmer's  wife  but  one  old  cotton  dress, 
An'  it's  full  of  holes,  it's  full  of  holes. 


9  De  farmer  say  to  de  merchant: 

"  We's  in  an  awful  fix; 

De  boll  weevil  et  all  de  cotton  up  an*  lef '  us  only  sticks, 
We's  got  no  home,  we's  got  no  home." 


10  De  farmer  say  to  de  merchant  : 

"  We  ain't  made  but  only  one  bale, 

And  befoh  we'll  give  yo'  dat  one  we'll  fight  and  go  to  jail, 
We'll  have  a  home,  we'll  have  a  home." 


11  De  cap'n  say  to  de  missus: 

"  What  d'  you  t'ink  o'  dat? 

De  boll  weevil  done  make  a  nes'  in  my  bes'  Sunday  hat, 
Goin'  to  have  a  home,  goin'  to  have  a  home." 


12  An'  if  anybody  should  ax  you 

Who  it  was  dat  make  dis  song, 

Jus'  tell  'em  'twas  a  big  buck  niggah  wid  a  paih  o'  blue  duckin's  on. 
Am'  got  no  home,  ain'  got  no  home. 


10 


MOANISH  LADY  I 


This  offshoot  of  the  spiritual,  "Mourner,  You  Shall  be  Free,"  has  been  widely  known  for  many 
years  among  barber  shop  harmonizers.  The  other  stanzas  of  the  barber  shop  version,  however, 
are  so  lackadaisical  that  they  don't  do  justice  to  the  stately  cadence  of  that  solemn  promise  that 
when  the  good  Lord  shall  call  you  home  you  shall  be  free.  Any  one  requiring  foolish  verses  for  this 
air  can  easily  improvise  as  silly  ones  as  have  been  left  out  here.  The  music  is  too  superbly  serious 
to  have  cheap  lines. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 
Evangelically  ^ 


Oh!  there  was  a  moanish    la  -  dy   Lived  in      a    moan-  ish  land,She  had    a  moanish  daughter 


1 
-J* 


Monotonously 


I 


^ 


|       _        I      fs     -fe ft       fe      K ft — I 

r=±=rf3^£=*^:?=E3==^3==$—3r 

* ^-= * Jt- 


:ZJT 


Could  moan  at    the     Lord's  com-mand. Moanish      la  -  dy 


and  you    shall          be 


f^S 


m 


^=*T 


IHH 


f  ree,Moanish     lion  -  ey,        and  you  shall  be  free  When     the  good  Lord  shall     call  you  home. 

/T\ 


m 


* 


4 


=3=3= 


FRfc 


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Eb*r 


3 


11 


I  RIDE  AN  OLD  PAINT 

This  arrangement  is  from  a  song  made  known  by  Margaret  Larkin  of  Las  Vegas,  New  Mexico, 
who  intones  her  own  poems  or  sings  cowboy  and  Mexican  songs  to  a  skilled  guitar  strumming, 
and  by  Linn  Riggs,  poet  and  playwright,  of  Oklahoma  in  particular  and  the  Southwest  in  general. 
The  song  came  to  them  at  Santa  Fe  from  a  buckaroo  who  was  last  heard  of  as  heading  for  the  Border 
with  friends  in  both  Tucson  and  El  Paso.  The  song  smells  of  saddle  leather,  sketches  ponies  and 
landscapes,  and  varies  in  theme  from  a  realistic  presentation  of  the  drab  Bill  Jones  and  his  violent 
wife  to  an  ethereal  prayer  and  a  cry  of  phantom  tone.  There  is  rich  poetry  in  the  image  of  the 
rider  so  loving  a  horse  he  begs  when  he  dies  his  bones  shall  be  tied  to  his  horse  and  the  two  of  them 
sent  wandering  with  their  faces  turned  west. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


^JfS-iii—  -zpzz^=Tj  5  =j-q  z  = 

j  =:  K  —  )  ]  r  —  r^i 

I     ride    an  old    Paint,         I    lead  -  an    old     Dan, 

"fflniFl             ^                           \ 

I'm  goin*  toMon-tan*     for    to 

.    -  '     -    ,         1 

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J         «  -•  •      J       W       J    I       !                  ! 

throw  the  hool  -  i  -  an.      They   feed     in  the    cou  -  lees,  they  wa  -  ter  in  the  draw,  Their 

Q# 

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frbd  p-4-44.-  -1  F-^J 

tails  are  all    mat-  ted,  their  backs  are  all     raw.     Ride  a-round,  lit-  tie    do  -  gies,Ride  a  - 

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I  RIDE  AN  OLD  PAINT 


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77-7-7 


round      them  slow,     For  the    fier  -  y    and    snuf  -  fy      are    a  -  rar  -  in'    to      go. 


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1  I  ride  an  old  Paint,  I  lead  an  old  Dan, 

I'm  goin'  to  Montan'  for  to  throw  the  hoolian. 
They  feed  in  the  coulees,  they  water  in  the  draw, 
Their  tails  are  all  matted,  their  backs  are  all  raw. 

Ride  around,  little  dogies, 

Ride  around  them  slow, 

For  the  fiery  and  snuffy  are  a-rarin'  to  go. 

2  Old  Bill  Jones  had  two  daughters  and  a  song, 
One  went  to  Denver  and  the  other  went  wrong. 
His  wife  she  died  in  a  poolroom  fight, 

Still  he  sings  from  mornin'  till  night. 

Ride  around,  little  dogies, 

Ride  around  them  slow, 

For  the  fiery  and  snuffy  are  a-rarin '  to  go. 

3  Oh,  when  I  die,  take  my  saddle  from  the  wall, 
Put  it  on  my  pony,  lead  him  out  of  his  stall. 

Tie  my  bones  to  his  back,  turn  our  faces  to  the  West, 
And  we'll  ride  the  prairie  that  we  love  the  best. 

Ride  around,  little  dogies, 

Ride  around  them  slow, 

For  the  fiery  and  snuffy  are  a-rarin'  to  go. 


13 


FOGGY,  FOGGY  DEW 

This  arrangement  is  from  a  song  rather  widely  known,  which  I  heard  first  from  Arthur 
Sutherland  and  his  bold  buccaneers  at  the  Eclectic  Club  of  Wesleyan  University.  A  middle  verse 
is  censored  from  this  version  as  being  out  of  key  and  probably  an  interpolation.  At  least,  it  is  what 
they  call  apocryphal  and  of  the  twilight  zone.  Observers  as  diverse  as  Sinclair  Lewis,  Sherwood 
Anderson,  Arthur  T.  Vance  and  D.  W.  Griffith  say  this  song  is  a  great  condensed  novel  of  real  life. 
After  hearing  it  sung  with  a  guitar  at  Schlogl's  one  evening  in  Chicago,  D.  W.  Griffith  telegraphed 
two  days  later  from  New  York  to  Lloyd  Lewis  in  Chicago,  "Send  verses  Foggy  Dew  stop  tune 
haunts  me  but  am  not  sure  of  words  stop  please  do  this  as  I  am  haunted  by  the  song." 

Arr.  H.  J. 


is 


^£ 


1.  When    I     was    a  bach' -lor,    I     liv'd  by    my-self,      I 


&&-v      ~]  d  Jr~~~*  F~  — 

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^ 

work'd      at      the   wea-ver's 

trade;                      The 

on   -  ly,    on   -   ly    thing 

I 

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1       c^              i-* 

m 

did     that  was  wrong  Was  to  woo       a    fair  young  maid. 


I  woo'd   her    in     the 


FOGGY,  FOGGY  DEW 


win-ter     time  And  in       thesum-mer,      too;    .    And  the  on-  ly,  on-  ly  thing     I 


zgE^rz^^ 


FINE 


did    that  was  wrong  Was    to  keep  her  from  the  fog  -  gy,  fog  -  gy      dew. 


2.  Oh, 


f 


i 


--&>- 


1  When  I  was  a  bach 'lor,  I  lived  by  myself, 
I  worked  at  the  weaver's  trade; 

The  only,  only  thing  I  did  that  was  wrong 

Was  to  woo  a  fair  young  maid. 

I  wooed  her  in  the  winter-time 

And  in  the  summer,  too; 

And  the  only,  only  thing  I  did  that  was  wrong, 

Was  to  keep  her  from  the  foggy,  foggy  dew. 

2  Oh,  I  am  a  bach'lor,  I  live  with  my  son; 
We  work  at  the  weaver's  trade; 

And  ev'ry  single  time  I  look  into  his  eyes 

He  reminds  me  of  the  fair  young  maid. 

He  reminds  me  of  the  winter-time 

And  of  the  summer  too; 

And  the  many,  many  times  that  I  held  her  in  my  arms, 

Just  to  keep  her  from  the  foggy,  foggy  dew. 


15 


WAILLIE,    WAILLIE! 

An  arrangement  of  an  old-time  British  piece  as  made  known  by  Daniel  Read  and  Isadora 
Bennett  Read  of  Chicago,  Illinois,  and  Columbia,  South  Carolina.  Its  stately  diction  might  be 
compared  to  certain  laced  ladies  and  ruffled  gentlemen  imprisoned  in  fine  porcelain  works  of  Eng- 
land a  century  or  two  ago.  It  is  a  deep  heart  cry,  too  profound  and  prolonged  to  be  called  poignant, 
yet  shaken  with  memory  of  passion. 

-  J' 


Slow 


When  cock-le  shells     .     . 


Turn          sil-ver 


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ft_^r^^  n        r   n 

g-P-^-^-^-a-     I       °»-|-,E 

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:_SJ.J _ 


r~ 


r 


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j^3: — 3- 


Then  will        my  love     re       -       turn      .  to   me.  When 


Et 


ros-es 


WAILLIE,  WAILLIE! 


wail  -  lie,         But    love    is          bon     -      nie 


A       lit  -  tie  while  When 


3E 


B 


•=K 


And  fades  a  -  way  like       eve    -    ning  dew. 


St^^rZ~5fe:ij 

•*•  !  v       ttr        l£7" 


When  cockle  shells  turn  silver  bells, 
Then  will  my  love  return  to  me. 
When  roses  blow,  in  wintry  snow, 
Then  will  my  love  return  to  me. 
Oh,  waillie!  waillie! 
But  love  is  bonnie 
A  little  while  when  it  is  new ! 
But  it  grows  old  and  waxeth  cold, 
And  fades  away  like  evening  dew. 

17 


DIS   MORNIN',    DIS   EVENIN',   SO  SOON 


This  arrangement  is  from  the  ballad  as  sung  by  Nancy  Barnhart,  painter  and  etcher,  of  St. 
Louis.  It  is  a  monotone  of  life  in  songtones  of  dusk  colors  and  rhythms  that  emerge  from  shadows. 
The  final  verse  is  a  scenario  for  a  pantomime. 

Arr.  H.  F. 

Not  too  fast 

35iiJbr^5iK=sz^3^ Kltg^TZ±IZl^ 


4— 


^  f~fr — K-^—^f-l — 

:  jL  -*-J- :£ri3? _j^ ^—j— - _. 


m 


Tell    old      Bill, when  he  leaves  home     dis       niorn-in',   . 

fctererd^ =^=r I «— I- 


Tell  old  Bill,  when 


!!I 


1 


TST 


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sr=^= 


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zg       ^^^^  ijljE. —    fr     ^^izi 


he    leaves  home     dis        eve  -  nin',  . 


~4:z^=r 


Tell    old    Bill,  when  he  leaves  home,  To 


m 


^^ 


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let  dcm  down-town  coons  a  -  lone,  Dis    morn  -in7,    dis    eve-  nin',     so     soon. 


m 


m= 


^ 


18 


DIS  MORNIN',  DIS  EVENIN',  SO  SOON 

1  Tell  old  Bill,  when  he  leaves  home  dis  mornin', 
Tell  old  Bill,  when  he  leaves  home  dis  evenin', 
Tell  old  Bill,  when  he  leaves  home, 
To  let  dem  down-town  coons  alone 
Dis  mornin',  dis  evenin',  so  soon. 

%  Bill  left  by  de  alley  gate  dis  mornin', 
Bill  left  by  de  alley  gate  dis  evenin', 
Bill  left  by  de  alley  gate, 
Old  Sal  says:     Now  don'  be  late, 
Dis  mornin',  dis  evenin',  so  soon. 

3  Bill's  wife  was  a  bakin'  bread  dis  mornin', 
Bill's  wife  was  a  bakin'  bread  dis  evenin', 
Bill's  wife  was  a  bakin'  bread, 

When  she  got  word  dat  Bill  was  dead 
Dis  mornin',  dis  eveiiin',  so  soon. 

4  O  dear,  dat  can't  be  so,  dis  mornin', 
O  dear,  dat  can't  be  so,  dis  evenin', 
O  dear,  dat  can't  be  so; 

For  Bill  left  home  'bout  a  hour  ago, 
Dis  mornin',  dis  evenin',  so  soon. 

5  O  dear,  dat  cannot  be,  dis  mornin', 
O  dear,  dat  cannot  be,  dis  evenin', 
O  dear,  dat  cannot  be, 

Dey  shoot  my  husband  in  de  firs'  degree, 
Dis  mornin',  dis  evenin',  so  soon. 

6  Dey  brought  Bill  home  in  a  hurry-up  wagon  dis  mornin', 
Dey  brought  Bill  home  in  a  hurry-up  wagon  dis  eveiiin,' 
Dey  brought  Bill  home  in  a  hurry-up  wagon, 

Dey  brought  Bill  home  wid  his  toes  a-draggin', 
Dis  mornin'.  dis  evenin',  so  soon. 


19 


OH,  BURY  ME  NOT  ON  THE  LONE  PRAIRIE 

This  arrangement  is  from  a  song  tnown  to  boys  of  the  Crossroads  Club  at  the  University 
of  Oregon.  After  a  recital  and  reception  there  one  evening  three  years  ago,  we  held  a  song  and  story 
session  lasting  till  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Nearly  all  nations  and  the  seven  seas  were  repre- 
sented. A  contingent  from  the  Black  Hills  of  South  Dakota  sang  this  version  of  The  Cowboy's 
Lament.  They  put  their  arms  on  each  other's  shoulders,  stood  in  a  circle,  and  cried  the  lines  almost 
as  a  ritual  from  lonesome  flat  lands,  the  arms  on  each  other's  shoulders  signifying  that  no  matter 
how  tough  life  might  be  they  could  meet  it  if  they  stood  together.  They  pronounced  "wind"  with 
a  long  "i"  as  in  "find"  or  "blind,"  and  said  the  cowhands  always  sang  it  in  that  classical  manner. 

Arr.  H.  R 


Where  the        rat  -  tie-  snakes  hiss 


Oh,  bur-  y    me  not  on  the    lone 
I—  ^     * 

ES3EW 


^ _____^_^J 


1  Oh,  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie, 
Where  the  wild  kiyotes  will  howl  o'er  me; 
Where  the  rattlesnakes  hiss  and  the  wind  blows  free, 
Oh,  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie! 


They  heeded  not  his  dying  prayer, 

They  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prairie, 

In  a  little  box  just  six  by  three, 

His  bones  now  rot  on  the  lone  prairie. 


CARELESS   LOVE 


This  poem,  trying  to  ease  heartbreak,  uses  the  simplest  of  words.  They  go  to  a  soft,  brave 
melody.  R.  W.  Gordon,  from  whose  handsome  collection  this  comes,  says  it  reckons  among  authen- 
tic folk  fabrics;  he  has  heard  it  with  slight  variations  in  several  southern  regions.  Its  lyric  cry  is 
brief,  poignant  as  Sappho.  Its  measures  are  close  to  silence  and  to  art  "to  be  overheard  rather 
than  heard." 

Moderate  espressivo  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


m 


l/K 


a^Pg 


^  -    - 

Love,  oh  love,  oh  care-less  love, 


Love,  oil  love,  oh  care-less  love, 


=f^fe^ 


love,  oh    love,  oh   care-less    love, 


"".-fr  I  |'l 


You   see  what  love  has  done  for     me. 


1  Love,  oh  love,  oh  careless  love, 
Love,  oh  love,  oh  careless  love, 
It's  love,  oh  love,  oh  careless  love, 
You  see  what  love  has  done  for  me. 

2  Sorrow,  sorrow,  to  rny  heart, 
Sorrow,  sorrow,  to  my  heart, 
Sorrow,  sorrow,  to  my  heart, 

When  me  and  my  true  love  have  to  part. 

3  It's  a  pity  that  we  ever  met, 
It's  a  pity  that  we  ever  met, 
It's  a  pity  that  we  ever  met, 

For  those  good  times  we'll  never  forget. 

4  Now  my  money's  spent  and  gone, 
Now  my  money's  spent  and  gone, 
Now  my  money's  spent  and  gone, 
You  passed  my  door  a-singing  a  song. 


5  Oh  I  love  my  mama  and  my  papa  too, 
Oli  I  love  my  rnama  and  my  papa  too, 
Oh  I  love  my  mama  and  my  papa  too, 
But  I'd  leave  them  both  and  go  with  you. 

6  Oh  I  cried  last  night  and  the  night  before, 
Oh  I  cried  last  night  and  the  night  before, 
Oh  I  cried  last  night  and  the  night  before, 
Going  to  cry  to-night  and  I'll  cry  no  more. 

7  Oh  ain't  it  enough  to  break  my  heart, 
Oh  ain't  it  enough  to  break  my  heart, 
Oh  ain't  it  enough  to  break  my  heart, 
To  sec  my  man  with  another  sweetheart. 

8  Oh  it's  done  and  broke  this  heart  of  mine, 
Oh  it's  done  and  broke  this  heart  of  mine, 
Oh  it's  done  and  broke  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  it'll  break  that  heart  of  yours  some  time. 


THE  JOHN  B.  SAILS 


John  T.  McCuteheon,  cartoonist  and  kindly  philosopher,  and  his  wife  Evelyn  Shaw  McCuteheon, 
mother  and  poet,  learned  to  sing  this  on  their  Treasure  Island  in  the  West  Indies.  They  tell  of  it, 
"Time  and  usage  have  given  this  song  almost  the  dignity  of  a  national  anthem  around  Nassau.  The 
weathered  ribs  of  the  historic  craft  lie  imbedded  in  the  sand  at  Governor's  Harbor,  whence  an  expedi- 
tion, especially  sent  up  for  the  purpose  in  1920,  extracted  a  knee  of  horseflesh  and  a  ring-bolt.  These 
relics  arc  now  preserved  and  built  into  the  Watch  Tower,  designed  by  Mr.  Howard  Shaw  and 
built  on  our  southern  coast  a  couple  of  points  east  by  north  of  the  star  Canopus. " 

Moderate  m  elan  col  ico  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

I 


-• J v 


Oh,  we   come  on    the  sloop   John    B.,  My    gran' -  fad  -  der     an'      me. 


mf 


Round  Nus-sau  Town    we    did    roam, 


fight, 


I        feel       so    break-up         I        want  to  go    home! 


REFRAIN 
POC°f 


THE  JOHN  B.  SAILS 


^ 


:fcarj±^JE 


"• 1 


So    hoist  up      the  Jo/w    1?.       sails, 


See    how      de     main  -  s'l      set, 


Send  for  de  Capt'n  a-shore,  Lem-me  go  home ! 


Lein-megoh 


Lem-me  go 


home! 


I      feel     so"  break-up      I        want  to  go    home! 


1  Oh,  we  come  on  the  sloop  John  B.9 
My  gran'fadder  an'  me. 
Round  Nassau  Town  we  did  roam, 
Drinking  all  night,  we  got  in  a  fight, 
I  feel  so  break-up  I  want  to  go  home! 

REFRAIN 

So  hoist  up  the  John  B.  sails, 
See  how  de  main-s'l  set, 
Send  for  de  Capt'n  ashore,  Lemme  go  home! 
Lemme  go  home!    Lemme  go  home! 
I  feel  so  break-up  I  want  to  go  home! 


2  De  first  mate  he  got  drunk, 
Break  up  de  people's  trunk. 

Constable  come  aboard  an'  take  him  away. 

Mr.  Johnstone,  please  let  me  alone. 

I  feel  so  break-up  I  want  to  go  home!  Refrain 

3  De  poor  cook  he  got  fits, 
Tro'  'way  all  de  grits, 

Den  he  took  an'  eat  up  all  o*  my  corn! 

Lemme  go  home,  I  want  to  go  home! 

Di«  is  de  worst  trip  since  I  been  born!  Refrain 


JOHN   HENRY 


In  southern  work  camp  gangs,  John  Henry  is  the  strong  man,  or  the  ridiculous  man,  or  anyhow 
the  man  worth  talking  about,  having  a  myth  character  somewhat  like  that  of  Paul  Bunyan 
in  work  gangs  of  the  Big  Woods  of  the  North.  He  is  related  to  John  Hardy,  as  balladry  goes,  but 
wears  brighter  bandannas.  The  harmonization  is  by  Thorvald  Otterstrom:  it  is  massive  in  its 
pounding  and  evokes  the  atmosphere  in  which  the  powerful  titan,  John  Henry,  "does  his  stuff." 

Arr.  T.  O 

Smoothly  and  fast 


/ 


Dat    a     man   wtiz    a 


/  With  humor  and  a  firm  rhythm 


=t 


man,  An*  be  -  fo'  he'd    let     dat  steam  drill     beat  him     down  He'd  fall  dead 

-S- 


--  j  --  .-_  ----  tt^-ttih 


-4—  —  .1     j  -—^,      ^  ^  _  _      ,..          -  --  j 

*- 


tt^-tth-d  -  F-^-'-J  ^-    -  •—  —  1--  -H- 

ft  ^        ^      *  - 


m* 

* 


Z Jr__  L  _j JR 


wid    a  ham-mer  in  his   han',       He'd  fall  dead 


wid    a  ham-mer     in       his     han'. 


«1 — • — L^I 

— t — =^r*  H 

5t  4   3 
*  ^ 


JOHN   HENRY 


1  John  Henry  toP  his  cap'n 
Dat  a  man  wuz  a  natural  man, 

An*  befo'  he'd  let  dat  steam  drill  run  him  down, 
He'd  fall  dead  wid  a  hammer  in  his  han', 
He'd  fall  dead  wid  a  hammer  in  his  han'. 

2  Cap'n  he  sez  to  John  Henry : 

"  Gonna  bring  me  a  steam  drill  'round; 
Take  that  steel  drill  out  on  the  job, 
Gonna  whop  that  steel  on  down, 
Gonna  whop  that  steel  on  down." 

3  John  Henry  sez  to  his  cap'n: 

"  Send  me  a  twelve-poun'  hammer  aroun', 
A  twelve-poun'  hammer  wid  a  fo'-foot  handle, 
An'  I  beat  yo'  steam  drill  down, 
An'  I  beat  yo'  steam  drill  down." 

4  John  Henry  sez  to  his  shaker: 
"  Niggah,  why  don'  yo'  sing? 

I'm  throwin'  twelve  poun'  from  my  hips  on 

down, 

Jes'  lissen  to  de  coP  steel  ring, 
Jes'  lissen  to  de  col'  steel  ring!  " 

5  John  Henry  went  down  de  railroad 
Wid  a  twelve-poun'  hammer  by  his  side, 

He  walked  down  de  track  but  he  didn'  come 

back, 

'Cause  he  laid  down  his  hammer  an'  he  died, 
'Cause  he  laid  down  his  hammer  an'  he  died. 

6  John  Henry  hammered  in  de  mountains, 
De  mountains  wuz  so  high. 

De  las'  words  I  heard  de  pore  boy  say : 
"  Gimme  a  cool  drink  o'  watah  fo'  I  die, 
Gimme  a  cool  drink  o*  watah  fo'  I  die!  " 


7  John  Henry  had  a  little  baby, 
Hel*  him  in  de  palm  of  his  han'. 

De  las'  words  I  heard  de  pore  boy  say: 
"  Son,  yo're  gonna  be  a  steel-drivin'  man, 
Son,  yo're  gonna  be  a  steel-drivin'  man!  " 

8  John  Henry  had  a  'ooman, 
De  dress  she  wo'  wuz  blue. 

De  las'  words  I  heard  de  pore  gal  say: 
"  John  Henry,  I  ben  true  to  yo', 
John  Henry,  I  ben  true  to  yo*." 

9  John  Henry  had  a  li'l  'ooman, 
De  dress  she  wo'  wuz  brown. 

De  las'  words  I  heard  de  pore  gal  say: 
"  I'm  goin'  w'eah  mah  man  went  down, 
I'm  goin'  w'eah  mah  man  went  down!  " 

10  John  Henry  had  anothah  'ooman, 
De  dress  she  wo'  wuz  red. 

De  las'  words  I  heard  de  pore  gal  say: 
"  I'm  goin'  w'eah  mah  man  drapt  daid, 
I'm  goin'  w'eah  mah  man  drapt  daid!  " 

1 1  John  Henry  had  a  li'l  'ooman, 
Her  name  wuz  Polly  Ann. 

On  de  day  John  Henry  he  drap  daid 
Polly  Ann  hammered  steel  like  a  man, 
Polly  Ann  hammered  steel  like  a  man. 

12  W'eah  did  yo'  git  dat  dress! 

W'eah  did  you  git  dose  shoes  so  fine? 
Got  dat  dress  f'm  off  a  railroad  man, 
An'  shoes  f'm  a  driver  in  a  mine, 
An'  shoes  f'm  a  driver  in  a  mine. 


MIDNIGHT   SPECIAL 


*  This  arrangement  is  from  the  song  as  rendered  by  midnight  prowlers  in  Dallas  and  Fort  Worth, 
Texas.  It  is  impressionistic  in  style,  delivering  the  substance  of  two  lives  in  brief  array.  We  see 
the  man  behind  the  bars  looking  out  toward  Roberta,  who  carries  a  document  given  her  by  some 
politician  or  precinct  worker.  The  warden  tells  her,  probably,  the  day  is  not  Visitor's  Day.  As 
her  man  considers  that  he  has  twenty  years  yet  to  serve,  he  cries  out  that  he  would  rather  be  under 
the  wheels  of  a  fast  midnight  train. 

Arr.  H.  J. 

Moderately  fast 


Yon  -   der     come     Ro  -  ber    -    ta! 


Tell     me  how     do  you     know? 


^ 


E:^~ft--ifr==ft 

—m ^ ^ ^  - 


f3 — H* — r— f^-fcE-~r~=  ^ 

_t tt 1 fe LJ=^       L±^: 


.    .      By     de  col  -  or     of    her      a    -    pron  .    .     an'    de      dress    she      wo' 


Um  -  ber  -  el  -  la     on    her  shoul  -  der, 


piece     o'    pa  -  per     in    her       ban', 


MIDNIGHT  SPECIAL 

rit. 


£ 


HI 


She    says      to    the      cap    -    'n: 


"I       want     my      man!" 

rit. 


tempo 


Let        de       Mid  -  night    Spe    -    cial     .     .      shine     a      light        on          me,   .     .     .     . 


^        grrr-..^      ?  •  -^ — j- 


rit motto  rit.    .    . 


Oh,  twen-ty  long     years  ....     in     de  pen  -  i  -  ten  -  tiar  -  y ! . 

rit. 

^3~ 


Yonder  come  Roberta!     Tell  me  how  do  you  know? 

By  de  color  ob  her  apron  and  de  dress  she  wo*. 

Umberella  on  her  shoulder,  piece  o'  paper  in  her  han', 
She  says  to  de  cap'n:     "  I  want  my  man!" 

Let  de  Midnight  Special  shine  a  light  on  me, 

Oh  twenty  long  years  in  de  pen-i-ten-tiar-y! 

87 


ALICE   B. 


This  is  arranged  from  the  ballad  as  sung  by  Arthur  Sutherland  and  the  buccaneers  of  the 
Eclectic  Club  of  Wesleyan  University.  Sutherland,  who  is  the  son  of  a  lawyer  in  Rochester,  New 
York,  first  heard  of  Alice  B.  when  he  was  with  the  American  Relief  Expedition  in  Armenia,  riding 
on  top  of  a  box  car  to  Constantinople  with  a  friend  who  came  from  New  Orleans,  Louisiana,  and 
who  in  that  gulf  port  one  day  paid  $1.50  to  a  hobo  to  sing  Alice  B.  as  he,  the  hobo,  had  just  heard 
it  a  few  days  previously  in  Memphis  from  a  negro  just  arriving  from  Galveston,  Texas.  This  is 
as  far  back  as  we  have  to  date  traced  the  Alice  B.  ballad.  Though  the  verses  have  wicked  and 
violent  events  for  a  theme,  they  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale  in  their  conclusion.  In  a  sense  it 
is  propaganda  in  favor  of  the  Volstead  Act. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 
Not  too  slow 


I3»— 


__ „ ._ 

=^£=2^£ 


4 


Oh  I'm  goin' out          West,  .     .   down     on     the      Ri   -    o         Grande, 


Sing  -in 


fare-thec,  0     my  hon-  ey,    O    my  hon-ey,   fare  -thec-well !  I'm  goin'  out          West,     .  down 

" 


•*=£==3r^=^f^ 
=5  I  04=—?— 


bfcz=G= 


5 


on  the  Ri  -  o      Grande, 


And  it's  fare-thee,  O     my   hon  -  ey,  fare-  thee-well! 


ALICE  B. 

1  I'm  goin'  out  West,  down  on  the  Rio  Grande, 

Singin'  fare-thee,  O  my  honey,  O  my  honey,  fare-thee-well! 
I'm  goin'  out  West,  down  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
And  it's  fare-thee,  O  my  honey,  fare-thee-well! 

2  The  twenty-fifth  of  September,  Martin  F.  a  man  tall  and  slender, 
He  was  the  man  who  committed  that  most  terrible  deed. 

On  a  Sunday  morning,  with  hardly  any  warning, 
He  shot  and  killed  his  high-brown  Alice  B. 

3  Martin  F.  was  a  coward,  he  run,  0  how  he  did  run! 
In  his  hand  he  carried  a  smokin'  forty-one; 

He  ran  up  to  de  co't,  says:     "  Judge,  I  committed  that  terrible  crime, 
And  now  I'm  ready  for  to  serve  my  ninety-and-nine." 

4  Alice  B.  like  a  baby  lay  on  her  dyin'  bed. 

She  says:     "  Mammy,  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  my  little  girl. 
Keep  her  feet  from  slippin'  through,  'cause  I  love  her,  'deed  I  do, 
An'  I  hopes  to  meet  her  in  that  other  worlY' 

5  De  judge  held  co't  de  very  next  day; 

Martin  F.  refused,  absolutely  refused,  to  testify. 
He  says:     "  Judge,  I  killed  my  baby,  my  Alice  B., 
And  now  that  I  killed  her  I'm  all  ready  to  die." 

6  "  She  was  a  good  woman,  an'  I  loved  her,  'deed  I  did. 
We  had  such  good  times,  together  all  the  time; 

Till  one  night  I  went  out,  got  filled  with  nigger  gin, 
An'  when  I  saw  her  I  completely  los'  my  min'." 

7  Then  come  all  you  rounders,  an'  all  you  high-browns  too, 
Take  heed  to  what  dis  man  has  done. 

You  may  go  out  some  night,  get  filled  with  squirrel  rum, 
An'  do  the  very  same  thing  that  Martin  has  done. 

8  Then  I'm  goin'  out  West,  down  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
Singin'  fare-thee,  0  my  honey,  0  my  honey,  fare-thee-well! 
I'm  goin'  out  West,  down  on  the  Rio  Grande, 

Singin'  fare-thee,  O  my  honey,  fare-thee-well! 


per  BOY 


Po*  Boy  is  a  jail  song  in  Oklahoma  and  Texas.  It  is  also  heard  among  post-graduates  from 
jail  in  the  federal  penitentiary  at  Leavenworth,  Kansas.  We  are  left  to  infer  that  if  the  "po*  boy" 
had  made  a  safe  getaway  after  taking  a  bag  of  mail  from  the  baggage  car,  the  woman  in  the  case 
would  not  have  run  away  with  another  man  but  would  have  stayed  with  him  to  enjoy  the  loot. 
The  lilt  of  the  song  is  almost  gay  throughout  except  for  the  steady  beat  of  the  mournful,  melodious 
vocables  of  "po*  boy."  The  "Katy"  train  is  a  reference  to  the  Missouri,  Kansas  &  Texas,  or 
"  K.T."  railway.  Of  course,  though  this  is  a  jail  song,  it  is  sung  by  many  who  are  free  and  "  outside." 


Allegretto 


Arr.  L.  R.  G. 


cold,cold ground; My    dad-dy    went     a  -  way;        My    .      sis  -  ter  mar-ricd    a 


rz*r 


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gam-blin'       man;      And       now    Fve     gone     a  -  stray.      .     .     I    sit   here  in    the 

i 


PO'  BOY 


E_-ft 


pris     -     on;        I       do    the   best     I       can;      But    I       get     to   think-in'    of  the 

^^^^^i^^^^^^^^^^E^1111^^ 

•  "W^  "™^  ™JB"  fi^1  •  • 


f     r      t 


She     ran    a  -  way  with  an-  oth  -  er   man,    po*  boy,    She  ran     a  -  way  with  an  -  oth  -er 

^Ir— r-  ^eg3 h r^rr^i 


y- 


man; 


I       get  to         think -in'     of      the    worn-! 


I       love 


iPi 


£=r 


31 


PC'  BOY 


rttard. 


She  ran     a  -way  with  an  -  oth  -  er      man,    po'      boy! 


ritard. 


1  My  mammy's  in  the  cold,  cold  ground; 
My  daddy  went  away; 

My  sister  married  a  gamblin'  man; 

And  now  I've  gone  astray. 

I  sit  here  in  the  prison; 

I  do  the  best  I  can; 

But  I  get  to  thinkin*  of  the  woman  I  love; 

She  ran  away  with  another  man. 

Chorus:     She  ran  away  with  another  man,  po*  boy, 
She  ran  away  with  another  man. 
I  get  to  thinkin'  of  the  woman  I  love; 
She  ran  away  with  another  man. 

2  Away  out  on  the  prairie, 

I  stopped  that  Katy  train; 

I  took  the  mail  from  the  baggage  car; 

And  walked  away  in  the  rain. 

They  got  the  bloodhounds  on  me, 

And  chased  me  up  a  tree; 

And  then  they  said,  "  Come  down,  my  boy, 

And  go  to  the  penitentiaree." 

Chorus:     She  ran  away  with  another  man,  po'  boy,  etc. 

3  t(  Oh,  mister  judge,  oh,  mister  judge, 
What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?  " 

"  If  the  jury  finds  you  guilty,  my  boy, 

I'm  going  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiaree." 

They  took  me  to  the  railroad  station; 

A  train  came  rolling  by; 

I  looked  in  the  window,  saw  the  woman  I  love; 

Hung  down  my  head  and  cried. 

Chorus:     Hung  down  my  head  in  shame,  po'  boy, 
Hung  down  my  head  and  cried; 
I  looked  in  the  window,  saw  the  woman  I  love, 
Hung  down  my  head  and  cried,  po'  boy! 
32 


THE  OULD  SOD 


AS  I   WAS  WALKIN     DOWN  WEXFORD   STREET 

SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY      (IRISH   LULLABY) 

SHE  SAID  THE  SAME  TO  ME  . 

WHO'S   THE   PRETTY   GIRL  MILKIN*  THE   COW? 

GIVE   ME   THREE  .GRAINS   OF   CORN,  MOTHER 

KEVIN   BARRY    

THE   SON   OF   A   GAMBOLIER     .... 


HARMONIZATION  BY 

Lillian  Rosedale  Goodman 
Edward  Collins 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  .       . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  .       . 

Mollie  Nemkovsky 


PAGE 

35 
36 
38 
40 
41 
42 
44 


AS  I  WAS  WALKIN'  DOWN  WEXFORD  STREET 

This  should  be  sung  easily  and  casually  to  begin  with,  but  in  the  end  it  is  a  Celtic  "crying  out 
loud."  The  mood  or  tone  seems  to  be  of  that  important  Irish  drama,  "The  W'hite  Headed  Boy," 
where  there  is  trouble  for  everybody  with  nobody  to  blame,  or  all  at  fault.  This  lilt,  too,  is  from 
Mother  McKinley,  formerly  of  McKinley,  Iowa,  and  later  of  Chicago. 

Arr.  L.  R.  G. 


As      I     was  walk-in'  down  Wex-ford  Street   Me 


fa  -  ther's  house   I  chanc't    to  meet;     Me     a  -  ged     fa  -  ther  stood  in     the  durc,  An'me 


V.  *    i  ^  -4    J-          *^ 


ritard. 


sis  -  ter  stood  on  the    flure,     .    .     While  me  ten  -  der  moth-  er     her  hair     she  ture. 


As  I  was  walkin*  down  Wexford  Street 
Me  father's  house  I  chanc't  to  meet; 
Me  aged  father  stood  in  the  dure, 
An'  me  sister  stood  on  the  flure, 
While  me  tender  mother  her  hair  she  ture. 
35 


SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY 


(IRISH  LULLABY) 

This  little  croon  is  an  impromptu,  made  up  in  some  hour  when  a  man  or  woman  holding  a  baby, 
or  rocking  a  cradle,  needed  hushing  words  for  a  hushing  tune.  Of  course,  the  statistical  information 
that  a  dollar  a  day  is  all  they  pay  for  work  on  the  boulevard  does  not  interest  a  sleepy  child,  but  as 
crooned  by  Robert  E.  Lee,  of  the  Chicago  Tribune,  the  word  "boul-e-vard"  has  comforting  and  sooth- 
ing quality.  Lee  heard  the  song  from  an  Irishman  in  charge  of  the  railroad  station  at  Wallingford, 
Iowa.  While  selling  passenger  tickets,  or  making  out  way-bills,  or  figuring  freight  demurrage,  or 
hustling  trunks  off  and  on  baggage  cars,  or  piling  crates  of  eggs,  "the  agent"  would  ease  his  heart 

with  this  lullaby. 

Arr.  E.  C. 
With  a  sigh  f)f) 


Sh  -  ta  -  ra-dah-dey,  sh-ta-  dey, Times  is  might  -  y 


f— r^zz^f 

*• — ^— k — >- 


hard.          A     dol  -  lar      a    day      is     all     they  pay     For  work  on     the     botil     -    e  - 


s 


senza  cresc. 


J -.L r-L 

^  _• ^  * 1    m. 

Jlj! Z  •         L.5-! 

~*+n r|u f.   I         ~^^ 


Fd— 


57 


.__r 


vard. 


^^E^^^^Eg^^EI:^ 


Sh  -  ta  -  ra  -  dah-dey,  sh  -  ta  -  dey,     Times     is  might -y       hard.  A 


sempre  )C)D 


•f 


SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY 


^ 


&=£=£=£=£E3E 


S 


-P      + 


dol  -  lar     a    day       is       all     they  pay     For  work  on   the    boul     -    e  -  vard. 


Sh   -  ta  -  ra  -  dah-  dey,     sh  -  ta  -  dey,         Times      is   might  -  y        hard,  .     .        A 
5^:  5^_  ,  £.... 

j£ , 9 


--=^j p 

* * — 


dol  -  lar   a  day       is     all     they  pay     For  work  on  the  boul  -  e  -  vard. 

J^- 

^f^^^B^ 


Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey,  sh-ta-dey, 
Times  is  mighty  hard. 
A  dollar  a  day  is  all  they  pay 
For  work  on  the  boulevard. 
Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey,  sh-ta-dey, 
Times  is  mighty  hard. 
A  dollar  a  day  is  all  they  pay 
For  work  on  the  boulevard. 
Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey,  sh-ta-dey, 
Times  is  mighty  hard. 
A  dollar  a  day  is  all  they  pay 
For  work  on  the  boulevard. 
37 


SHE   SAID   THE   SAME  TO   ME 


A  briefly  etched  love  story  is  here,  with  only  a  first  chapter,  leaving  the  middle  and  ending 
chapters  untold.  There  may  be  other  verses  telling  of  marriage  and  children,  or  of  fate  that  ran 
otherwise.  It  is  a  true  Irish  lilt,  and  was  sung  by  folks  from  the  Ould  Sod  who  settled  in  Iowa. 
This  version  is  from  Mother  McKinley  of  the  family  from  whom  the  town  of  McKinley,  Iowa, 
was  named. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


^ 


s 


3E 


Q       j 9         _... 


Twas    in     the  month  of      Au  -  gust,  .     or    the    mid  -  die     of      Ju  -    ly,     .     .    One 


g— r- — i — ^ 


^ 


eve-  ning     I       went  walk -ing,   .      a     fair   maid-en  I      did       spy;  .     .    She   was 


melanconico 


3: 


mourn  -  in*     for      her     true      love,        who   was      in       A   -   mer    -    i    -    kce,     .     .      Agh, 


38 


SHE  SAID  THE  SAME  TO  ME 


5EE=j^S 


div  -  il       a    word     I      said      to     her,  and    she     said    the    same      to 


'Twas  in  the  month  of  August,  or  the  middle  of  July, 
One  evening  I  went  walking,  a  fair  maiden  I  did  spy; 
She  was  mournin'  for  her  true  love,  who  was  in  Arnerikee, 
Agh,  divil  a  word  I  said  to  her,  and  she  said  the  same  to  me! 


39 


WHO'S  THE  PRETTY  GIRL   MILKIN'   THE  COW? 


The  fragment  here  is  probably  a  make-over,  a  distillation,  from  an  Irish  song  of  lesser  grace 
and  melody.  Bob  Lee  sang  this  for  me,  but  wasn't  sure  he  had  the  words  right;  he  would  see  the 
traffic  policeman,  Tom  Burke,  and  be  sure;  and  Burke  said,  "Why  should  ye  be  wantin'  that  little 

song?    It's  old.    Everybody  knows  it." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


0  'twas    on         a    bright    mom  -  in'     in       sum-mer  When  I     first     heard  her 

5       "L^I  S- 

^3gfrJjfa|tE:Er*j±|E^=rU^  fl'^EfeiP^1'-'] 

<~"r  


(Icggiero)  (rnJO)  (dolcissimo) 


voice      sing    -   in 


i 


low 


As     he      said       to       a          col   -  leen       be    - 

ji \£_  [^_._<i 


/T\  ^7%  ^TN 


H 


side      him:  "Who's  the    pret    -   ty        girl        milk    -    in*         the    cow?" 


O  'twas  on  a  bright  mornin'  in  summer 
When  I  first  heard  her  voice  singin'  low 
As  he  said  to  a  colleen  beside  him: 
"Who's  the  pretty  girl  milkin'  the  cow?' 

40 


GIVK   ME  THREE   GRAINS   OF   CORN,  MOTHER 

Sometimes  it  happens  that  a  maudlin,  drivelling  song  published  elaborately  as  sheet  music 
undergoes  a  transformation.  It  mellows  and  sweetens  as  it  is  passed  on  and  sung  in  new  ways. 
Harsh  contours  are  worn  down,  jagged  edges  smoothed.  This  is  the  case  with  "Three  Grains  of 
Corn.*'  I  have  an  11848  original  of  the  sheet  music;  it  is  long;  it  prolongs  desolation  beyond  endur- 
ance or  healthy  art.  The  latter  quality  is  not  found  in  the  variants  known  among  midwest  pioneers. 
Of  several  versions,  the  most  appealing  to  me  is  one  from  the  Frariz  Rickaby  collection,  communicated 
by  Mrs.  C.  A.  Yoder  of  Bloomington,  Indiana.  I  have  gone  to  this  song  in  certain  moods  and  found 
it  sickly  with  melancholy,  not  worth  singing.  Again,  in  other  moods,  I  have  gone  to  it  and  found  it 
a  gaunt  little  human  drama  with  a  melody  carrying  some  of  the  tone  color  of  dark,  vivid  Irish  hearts. 


Give  me  three    grains  of  corn,  moth-  er,  On  -  ly    three  grains  of  corn.      'Twill 


keep   this     lit    -  tie      life        I     have      Till  the     com  -  ing      of 


the 


morn. 


1  Give  me  three  grains  of  corn,  mother 
Only  three  grains  of  corn. 
'Twill  keep  what  little  life  I  have 
Till  the  coming  of  the  morn. 

a  For  I'm  dying  of  hunger  and  cold,  mother 
Dying  of  hunger  and  cold, 
And  the  agony  of  such  a  death 
My  lips  have  never  told. 


5  Oh,  how  can  I  look  to  you,  mother, 
Oh,  how  can  I  look  to  you 

For  bread  to  feed  your  starving  child 
When  you  are  starving  too? 

6  For  I  read  the  famine  on  your  cheek 
And  in  your  eyes  so  wild, 

And  I  felt  it  in  your  bony  hand 
When  you  laid  it  on  your  child. 


3  Oh,  what  has  old  Ireland  done,  mother,  7  It  has  gnawed  like  a  wolf  at  my  heart,  mother, 

Oh,  what  has  old  Ireland  done,  A  wolf  that  was  fierce  for  blood, 

That  the  world  looks  on  and  sees  them  starve,      All  the  livelong  day  and  the  night  beside, 
Perishing  one  by  one?  Gnawing  for  lack  of  food. 


4  There  is  many  a  brave  heart,  mother, 
That  is  dying  of  hunger  and  cold, 
While  only  across  the  channel,  mother, 
Thousands  are  rolling  their  gold. 


8  I  dreamed  of  bread  in  my  sleep,  mother, 
The  sight  was  heaven  to  see. 
I  awoke  with  an  eager  and  famishing  lip 
And  you  had  no  bread  for  me. 


KEVIN   BARRY 


Tongues  of  love  and  hate,  breaths  of  passion  and  suffering,  all  mingled  with  a  strange  bitter- 
sweet, are  in  this  song  out  of  the  violent  events  in  Ireland.  Probably  all  wars  and  revolutions 
produce  figures  like  Kevin  Barry,  though  seldom  do  they  have  such  adequate  songs  as  memorials. 
In  Nashville,  Tennessee,  one  rnay  look  at  the  statue  of  Sam  Davis,  who  died  refusing  to  turn  in- 
former and  thus  save  his  life.  Davis  has  a  statue  in  bronze;  Kevin  Barry  has  a  song.  These 
verses  and  their  wistful,  longing  melody  are  from  Irish  boys  and  girls  in  "Chicago  who  learned  the 
ballad  on  the  Ould  Sod. 

Arr.  M.  N. 


Ear  -  ly      on  a     Mon-  day  morn-  ing,     High  up  -  on  the    gal  -  lows  tree, 


* — -ffT 


Tf    ? 


-•=^Es^==gEE:i 


Kev  -  in     Bar    -     ry     gave   his  young  life        For    the  cause          of      lib  -  er  -    ty. 


1  Early  on  a  Monday  morning, 
High  upon  the  gallows  tree, 
Kevin  Barry  gave  his  young  life 
For  the  cause  of  liberty. 

2  Only  a  lad  of  eighteen  summers, 
Still  there's  no  one  can  deny, 

As  he  walked  to  death  that  morning 
Nobly  held  his  head  up  high. 

3  Another  martyr  for  old  Ireland, 
Another  murder  for  the  crown, 
Brutal  laws  to  crush  the  Irish 
Could  not  keep  their  spirits  down. 


KEVIN   BARRY 

4  Lads  like  Barry  are  no  cowards. 
From  their  foes  they  do  not  fly; 
For  their  bravery  always  has  been 
Ireland's  cause  to  live  or  die. 

5  "Kevin  Barry,  do  not  leave  us, 
On  the  scaffold  you  must  die!" 
Cried  his  broken-hearted  mother 
As  she  bade  her  son  good-bye. 

6  Kevin  turned  to  her  in  silence 
Saying,  "Mother,  do  not  weep, 
For  it's  all  for  dear  old  Ireland 
And  it's  all  for  freedom's  sake." 

7  Just  before  he  faced  the  hangman 
In  his  lonely  prison  cell, 

The  Black  and  Tans  tortured  Barry, 
Just  because  he  wouldn't  tell 

8  The  names  of  his  brave  comrades, 
And  other  things  they  wished  to  know. 
"Turn  informer  and  we'll  free  you." 
But  Kevin  proudly  answered  "No! 

9  "Shoot  me  like  a  soldier. 
Do  not  hang  me  like  a  dog, 
For  I  fought  to  free  old  Ireland 
On  that  still  September  morn. 

10  "All  around  the  little  bakery 

Where  we  fought  them  hand  to  hand, 
Shoot  me  like  a  brave  soldier, 
For  I  fought  for  Ireland." 


43 


THE   SON   OF   A   GAMBOLIER 

Misery  with  a  light-hearted  lilt  ....  a  far-flung  companion  of  roving  men. 

. '  :  ,  ' — TIT 
[ 4-^4 


I'm      a    ram- bling  wretch  of     pov  -    er  -  ty,  from    Tip  •  'ry   town      I  came.        Twas 
Refrain:  Then  corn-bine your  hum-ble   dit  -   ties  as     from  tav-ern  to  tav-ern  we  steer;          Like 


^ 


E35 


^5=^ 


*•-= 


po  -  ver  -  ty     com-pelled  me  first     to      go     out     in     the  rain ; 
ev  -  e  -  ry      hon-  est     f el- low,      I   drinks  my    la-gerbeer; 


In      all    sorts    of 
Like    ev  -  'ry     hon- 


wea-  ther,  be      it    wet     or     be      it    dry,         I     am  bound  to  get    my  live  -  li-  hood,   or 
est    fel  -  low,    I  takes  my  whis-key  clear,      I'm    a    ram-bling  wretch  of  pov  -er  -  ty,  and  the 
D.C.  REFRAIN  (Conclusion  of  REFRAIN)  s 

EEME^ 


lay  me  down  and  die. 
son  of  a  gam-bo-lier. 


I'm  a    son  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a  gam-bo  -  Her. 


1  I'm  a  rambling  wretch  of  poverty,  from  Tip'ry  town  I  carne. 
'Twas  poverty  compelled  me  first  to  go  out  in  the  rain; 

In  all  sorts  of  weather,  be  it  wet  or  be  it  dry, 

I  am  bound  to  get  my  livelihood  or  lay  me  down  and  die. 

Refrain: 

Then  combine  your  humble  ditties  as  from  tavern  to  tavern  we  steer; 
Like  every  honest  fellow,  I  drinks  my  lager  beer; 
Like  every  jolly  fellow,  I  takes  my  whiskey  clear, 
I'm  a  rambling  wretch  of  poverty,  and  the  son  of  a  gambolier  — 
I'm  the  sou  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a,  son  of  a  gambolier. 

2  I  once  was  tall  and  handsome,  and  was  so  very  neat; 

They  thought  I  was  too  good  to  live,  most  good  enough  to  eat; 
But  now  I'm  old  my  coat  is  torn,  and  poverty  holds  me  fast. 
And  every  girl  turns  up  her  nose  as  I  go  wandering  past. 

Refrain: 

3  I'm  a  rambling  wretch  of  poverty,  from  Tip'ry  town  I  came; 

My  coat  I  bought  from  an  old  Jew  shop  way  down  in  Maiden  Lane; 

My  hat  I  got  from  a  sailor  lad  just  eighteen  years  ago, 

And  my  shoes  I  picked  from  an  old  dust  heap,  which  every  one  shunned  but  me! 

Refrain: 


MINSTREL  SONGS 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAGE 

I  WISH  I  WAS  SINGLE  AGAIN Harry  Gilbert 47 

WALKY-TALKY   JENNY 48 

HAYSEED Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  50 

GOOD-BY  LIZA  JANE Alfred  G.  Wathall  .        .        .        .  51 

WIZARD  OIL Henry  Francis  Parks     ...  52 


46 


I   WISH   1   WAS   SINGLE   AGAIN 


A  lawyer  with  a  larger  divorce  practice  than  he  can  handle  conveniently  tells  us  that  half  the 
time  when  divorced  men  marry  again  they  pick  the  same  kind  of  a  wrong  woman  a  second  time. 
However  that  may  be  today,  it  seems  that  the  minstrels  of  a  generation  past  won  wide  popular 
success  with  a  song  voicing  the  troubles  of  a  man  who  made  the  same  mistake  twice.  The  ditty 
spread  to  mountains  and  prairies.  The  version  here  is  one  that  Edwin  Ford  Piper  heard  in  Nebraska 
when  a  boy. 

Arr.  H.  G. 


333fes 


was    sin  -  gle,     0    then,       0    then,  When    I 


was    sin  -  gle,    O 


it 


3^£ 


sin  -  gle     a  -  gain,      a  -  gain,  And    I    wish     I    was    sin  -  gle     a  -  gain.     .     . 


/ 


1  When  I  was  single,  0  then,  0  then, 
When  I  was  single,  O  then, 
When  I  was  single,  my  money  did  jingle, 
I  wish  I  was  single  again,  again, 
And  I  wish  I  was  single  again. 

£  I  married  me  a  wife,  0  then,  O  then, 
I  married  me  a  wife,  O  then, 
I  married  me  a  wife,  she's  the  plague  of  my  life 
And  I  wish  I  was  single  again,  again, 
And  I  wish  I  was  single  again. 


3  My  wife  she  died,  0  then,  0  then, 
My  wife  she  died,  O  then, 

My  wife  she  died,  and  then  I  cried, 
To  think  I  was  single  again,  again, 
To  think  I  was  single  again. 

4  I  married  another,  the  devil's  grandmother, 
I  wish  I  was  single  again, 

For  when  I  was  single,  my  money  did  jingle, 
I  wish  I  was  single  again,  again, 
I  wish  I  was  single  again. 


47 


WALKY-TALKY  JENNY 

This  has  the  saunter  and  the  swagger  of  the  southern  mountaineers  when  they  are  having  a 
luminous  good  time.  Its  style  is  comic  rather  than  humorous;  it  has  dangerous  moods;  its  eyes 
have  odd  twinkles  from  under  the  hat  brim;  it  says  to  the  city  slicker,  "You  all  better  looka  out, 
we  might  be  tellin'  you  to  not  let  the  sun  go  down  on  you  hereabouts."  This  version  of  "  Walky- 
Talky  Jenny"  came  from  H.  Luke  Stancil  of  Pickens  County,  Georgia.  He  wrote  the  verses  and 
monologues  on  the  porch  of  the  Holden  home  in  Athens,  Georgia,  a  house  which  is  the  residence  of 
a  niece  and  grandriiece  of  Alexander  Stephens.  Long  ago,  perhaps  before  the  Civil  War,  a  min- 
strel troupe  played  one-night  stands  in  the  valley  towns,  performed  with  this  song,  and  it  was 
picked  up  by  the  mountaineers  and  made  into  what  we  have  here.  The  mingling  of  comic  bucolic 
monologue  with  song  lines  arid  chorus  was  a  minstrel  feature. 


Yon-  der  comes  dat   ole   Joe  Brown,De  big  -  ges'  liar     in    town  ;    He    eats  more  meat  dan 


an  -  y  man's  dog,  An'    his  belt  won't  reach  a  -  roun'.      O,  walk- y  -  talk  -  y     Jen-ny  an*    a 


hub-  ble  for  your  trou-ble,  An'    a  walk  -  y  -  talk  -  y    Jen  -ny,  I      say  ;  O,  walk-  y  -  talk  -  y 


Jen-ny  an'  a   hub-blc  for  your  trou-blej'm     a    nig  -  ger  from  de  state  of    Al  -  a- bam! 


Yonder  comes  dat  ole  Joe  Brown, 
De  bigges'  liar  in  town; 
He  eats  more  meat  dan  any  man's  dog, 
An*  his  belt  won'  reach  aroun'. 

Sing  Chorus 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  bubble  for  your  trouble, 

An*  a  walky-talky  Jenny,  I  say; 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  bubble  for  your  trouble, 

I'm  a  nigger  from  de  state  of  Alabam! 


48 


WALKY-TALKY  JENNY 

I  went  down  de  road  de  udder  day,  I  did,  I  did,  so  I  did.  When  I  got  down  dere  I  seed  an  ole 
man  settin'  on  de  bank  o'  de  road,  an*  I  says,  "  Hey !  ole  man,  what  time  is  it?"  He  said, "  'Bout  one 
o'clock,"  an'  about  dat  time  he  knocked  me  down  twice  'fore  I  could  get  up  once.  I  said,  "Ole 
man,  I  sho'  would  hate  to  pass  yo'  house  'bout  twelve  o'clock.  If  you  eber  do  cross  my  path  agin 
I'm  gwine-a  make  you  ..." 

Sing  Chorus 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

An'  a  walky-talky  Jenny,  I  say; 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

I'm  a  nigger  from  de  state  of  Alabam! 

I  went  on  down  de  road  a  little  f udder,  I  did,  I  did,  so  I  did.  I  got  down  dere  an*  I  seed  a  great 
big  fine  house  afire.  Dat  house  sho'  was  a-burnin'  up.  I  got  up  a  little  closer  an'  seed  somebody 
settin'  up  on  top  o'  dat  air  house.  I  got  up  a  little  closer  an*  seed  it  was  ole  Aunt  Dinah.  I  says, 
"  Ole  gal,  yo'  sho'  am  in  a  mell  of  a  hess.  I  wonder  how  yo'  gwine  to  git  down  from  dere."  I  got  up 
a  little  closer  an'  stuck  a  plank  up  to  de  side  o'  de  house  an'  said,  "Ole  gal,  yo'  slide  down  dat  air 
plank!"  Here  she  come,  a-slidin'  down  into  my  arms.  When  she  got  down  dere,  she  made  a  face 
at  me.  I  says,  "Ole  gal,  what  am  de  matter  wid  you?"  She  says,  "I  don'  know,  mister,  dere 
musta  been  a  little  nail  in  dat  air  plank,  mighta  scratched  me  a  little  as  I  come  down."  I  says, 
"Ole  gal,  yo'  de  bigges*  fool  I  eber  did  see.  If  you  eber  do  cross  my  path  agin,  I'm  gwine-a  make 
you  .  .  ." 

Sing  Chorus 

0,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

An'  a  walky-talky  Jenny,  I  say; 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

I'm  a  nigger  from  de  state  of  Alabam! 

I  went  on  down  de  road  a  little  f  udder,  I  did,  I  did,  so  I  did.  I  went  down  in  my  corn  patch 
to  sec  how  my  field  was  a-growin'.  I  got  down  dere  an'  along  come  a  punkin  runnin'  along,  an'  he 
picked  up  a  calf  in  his  mouth  an'  trotted  off  wid  it.  I  went  back  to  de  house  an'  dere  stood  my  baby 
in  de  door  wid  my  wife  in  her  arms.  I  stood  dere  a  few  minutes  an'  here  conie  a  little  ole  bark  around 
de  house  a-doggin'.  I  put  my  pocket  down  in  my  hand,  pulled  out  my  tail  an'  cut  his  knife  off. 
"Ole  dog,  if  you  eber  do  cross  my  path  agin,  I'm  gwine-a  make  you  .  .  ." 

Sing  Chorus 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

An'  a  walky-talky  Jenny,  I  say; 

O,  walky-talky  Jenny  an'  a  hubble  for  your  trouble, 

I'm  a  nigger  from  de  state  of  Alabam! 


49 


HAYSEED 


The  minstrels  always  enjoyed  giving  their  audiences  songs  about  the  accidents  and  calamities 
that  country  people  met  with  in  the  large  cities.  Out  of  many  songs  having  to  do  with  the  ignorant 
ones  who  blew  out  the  gas,  and  the  adventures  of  "hayseeds"  in  the  big  city,  we  present  one  with 
a  don't-eare  tune.  It  is  communicated  by  Mrs.  William  Pitt  Abbott  of  Duluth,  Minnesota. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

_  Waltz  time 


A  hayseed  one  day  to  himself  did  say,"  I've  worked  just  a  year  and  a  minit."  .  .     . 

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cit  -  y    he  flew,     his  mon  -ey     he  drew,   This  hay -seed  was  bound  to  be     in    it.     .     .     . 


rrrrii 


—m~~jK 1— 


1  A  hayseed  one  day  to  himself  did  say, 

"  Fve  worked  just  a  year  and  a  minit." 
To  the  city  he  flew,  his  money  he  drew, 
This  hayseed  was  bound  to  be  in  it. 

2  He  went  to  a  hotel,  he  engaged  him  a  room; 
It  cost  him  five  dollars  a  miriit. 

But  he  did  not  care,  he  had  money  to  spare; 
This  hayseed  was  bound  to  be  in  it. 

3  He  went  to  his  room,  he  blew  out  the  gas, 
He  pulled  down  the  bed  and  got  in  it. 
Next  morning  at  nine,  in  a  coffin  of  pine 
This  hayseed  was  strictly  dead  in  it. 


m 


50 


GOOD-BY  LIZA  JANE 

When  the  Rutledge  &  Rogers  mammoth  and  mastodonic  circus  travelled  the  mid-west  many 
years  ago,  this  minstrel  song  was  on  the  program  of  its  concerts.  We  give  it  here  from  the  recollec- 
tion of  C.  W.  Loutzenhiser  of  Chicago,  who  was  a  boy  at  the  time.  The  drollery  and  the  mathe- 
matics of  the  nonsense  here  will  stand  comparison  with  some  of  the  best  in  "Alice  in  Wonderland." 
Also,  with  some  of  the  worst  in  "  Hostetter's  Almanac." 

Arr-  A-  G.  W. 


Moderate 


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Our  horse  fell  down  the  well  a- round  be- hind  the  sta- ble,  Well  he  did-n't    fall  clear 


down  but  he  fell,  fell,  fell,  fell,fell,fell,  As  far  as  he  was  a-  ble.  Oh  f  it's    good-by  Li-  za  Jane. 


_ — *        ft  V 


1  Our  horse  fell  down  the  well  around  behind  the  stable, 
Our  horse  fell  down  the  well  around  behind  the  stable, 

Well  he  didn't  fall  clear  down  but  he  fell,  fell,  fell,  fell,  fell,  fell, 
As  far  as  he  was  able.     Oh!  it's  good-by  Liza  Jane. 

2  Our  goose  swallowed  a  snail,  and  his  eyes  stuck  out  with  wonder, 
Our  goose  swallowed  a  snail,  and  his  eyes  stuck  out  with  wonder, 
For  the  horns  grew  through  his  tail,  tail,  tail,  tail,  tail,  tail, 

And  bust  it  all  asunder.    Oh!  it's  good-by  Liza  Jane. 

S  My  gal  crossed  the  bridge,  so  she  wouldn't  get  her  feet  wet, 
My  gal  crossed  the  bridge,  so  she  wouldn't  get  her  feet  wet, 

Well  she  didn't  cross  the  bridge,  but  she  would,  would,  would,  would,  would,  would, 
But  the  bridge  it  wasn't  built  yet.    Oh!  it's  good-by  Liza  Jane. 


WIZARD   OIL 


Earlier  than  1880  patent  medicine  men  and  their  wagons  were  traveling.  Kickapoo  Indian 
Sagwa  as  a  spring  tonic  and  Kickapoo  Snake  Oil  for  rheumatism  and  neuralgia  were  bespoken  and 
proclaimed  by  dancing  and  shouting  Indians.  The  Wizard  Oil  remedies  had  their  merits  sung  by 
slick-tongued  comedians  with  banjos.  Flaring  gasoline  lamps  lighted  their  faces  as  the  throngs 
surged  about  listening  to  the  promises  made  to  the  sick,  lame,  sore.  Harry  E.  Randall  of  San 
Diego,  California,  heard  the  Wizard  Oil  mountebanks  in  Illinois  in  the  late  1870's,  and  the  follow- 
ing is  a  text  and  air  communicated  through  Neeta  Marquis  of  Los  Angeles,  California. 

Arr.  H.  R  P. 

Like  a  big  city  slicker 


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Oh!      I      love    to    trav  -  el      far    and  near  through-out    my     na-tive       land; 


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I      love       to     sell       as        I       go    'long,   and    take    the     cash       in     hand. 


I       love     to     cure     all       in      dis   -  tress   that    hap  -  pen      in       my     way, 


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And  you    bet  -  ter     be  -  lieve    I      feel  quite  fine  when  folks  rush   up    and    say 

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two  ;         I'll  take  an-oth-er  bottle  of  Wiz-ard  Oil,    I'll  take  anoth-er  bottle    or    two." 

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Oh!  I  love  to  travel  far  and  near  throughout  my  native  land; 
I  love  to  sell  as  I  go  'long,  and  take  the  cash  in  hand. 
I  love  to  cure  all  in  distress  that  happen  in  iny  way, 
And  you  better  believe  I  feel  quite  fine  when  folks  rush  up  and  say: 
Chorus: 

"I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two; 
I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two." 


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53 


WIZARD  OIL 

Now,  listen  to  what  I'm  going  to  say,  and  don't  you  think  I'm  jesting 
When  I  tell  you  for  your  aches  and  pains  that  Wizard  Oil's  the  best  thing. 
It's  healing  and  it's  soothing,  it's  refreshing  and  it's  thriving, 
The  proof  of  which,  wherever  it's  sold  the  people  all  are  thriving. 

Spoken: 

That's  so!  Wherever  Wizard  Oil  is  used,  the  people  always  thrive.  I  never  get  up 
to  sell  the  second  time  in  a  town  but  I'm  interrupted  by  the  sweet  silvery  voice  of  a 
young  lady  or  the  sonorous  tones  of  a  gentleman.  They  rush  up  to  me  with  a  half- 
dollar  in  their  hands  and  soon  I  hear  their  sweet  exclamations,  which  sound  very 
much  like: 

"I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two! 
I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two!" 

Once  while  selling  'way  out  West  in  the  State  of  Illinois, 

The  people  all  came  running  up  to  see  what  made  the  noise. 

The  merchants  laughed  in  their  counting  rooms,  the  farmers  laughed  a-hoeing. 

Amongst  the  rest  a  Dutchman  came,  a-puffing  and  a-blowing. 

Spoken: 

"Mein  Gottin  Himmel,  vot  a  country  und  vot  a  peoples!  Stab  me  in  the  back  mit  a 
double-barrelled  bootjack,  he's  the  same  man  I  saw  in  Chicago  last  week !  I  buys  von 
bottle  of  oil  of  him,  I  takes  him  home,  und  py  dam,  he's  good  stuff!  So  ... 

"I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two! 
I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two!" 

Soon  after  this  a  lady  came  up,  just  fresh  from  the  Em'rald  Isle. 

Says  she,  "Mister,  if  you  will,  I'll  spake  wid  you  a  while!" 

Says  I,  "  Certainly,  madam,  don't  be  afraid.     Let's  hear  what  you  have  to  say. 

Are  you  sick,  or  lame,  or  going  blind,  or  what's  the  matter,  I  pray?" 

Spoken: 

"No,  no,  it's  me  husband,  bad  luck  to  the  lazy  divil!  Divil  the  bit  of  work  has  he 
done  for  the  past  six  months.  He  lies  in  bed  till  ten  in  the  mornin',  and  I  think  your 
oil  a  profitable  quality  to  pull  the  lazy  divil  out  of  bed.  So  ... 

"I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two! 
I'll  take  another  bottle  of  Wizard  Oil, 
I'll  take  another  bottle  or  two! " 


TARNISHED  LOVE  TALES  or  COLONIAL  AND 
REVOLUTIONARY  ANTIQUES 


JIAUMON17ATION  BY  PAGE 

BARBRA  ALLEN 57 

THE  FROZEN  GIRL 58 

PRETTY  POLLY 60 

COMMON  BILL Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  62 

LITTLE   SCOTCH-EE 64 

THE  HOUSE   CARPENTER 66 

A  PRETTY  FAIR  MAID Elizabeth  Marshall         ...  68 

LORD  LOVEL 70 

THE  QUAKER'S  WOOING 71 

THE  MAID  FREED  FROM  THE  GALLOWS 72 


It  may  be  considered  remarkable,  that  it  was  not  till  English  literature  had  reached  its  highest 
point  of  refinement — it  was  not  until  the  days  of  Addison  and  Pope,  or,  still  later,  of  Gray  and 
Goldsmith — that  the  rude  ballad  poetry  of  the  people  became  an  object  of  interest  to  the  learned. 
In  the  Spectator ,  Addison  first  drew  the  attention  of  what  was  then  called  the  "polite  world"  to 
the  merits  of  the  ballad  of  Chevy-Chase;  but  he  did  so  in  the  apologetic  strain  of  one  who  was 
fully  prepared  for  the  said  world  being  surprised  at  him  taking  under  his  protection  anything  so 
vulgar,  or  even  humble.  He  introduces  the  ballad  much  in  the  manner  that  the  fastidious  yet 
generous  Guy  Mannering  may  be  supposed  to  have  introduced  to  his  lettered  friends  the  hearty 
borderer,  Dandie  Dinmont,  with  his  spattered  jack-boots  and  shaggy  drednought: — there  was  no 
denying  the  rough  and  startling  exterior,  but  many  excellent  qualities  were  to  be  found  under  it. 
Up  to  this  time,  the  traditionary  ballads  of  the  country  were  held  to  be  of  so  rude  a  character  as 
to  be  scarcely  amenable  to  the  rules  of  literary  criticism;  no  historical  value  seems  to  have  been 
attached  to  them;  and  with  the  exception  of  some  plodding  Pepys,  who,  for  his  own  gratification, 
stitched  and  preserved  his  "Penny  Garlands,"  no  endeavor  was  made  to  rescue  them  from  the 
perishable  breath  of  oral  tradition,  or  the  fragile  security  of  the  pedlar's  broadside. 

ALEXANDER  WIUTKLAW  in  Book  of  Scottish  Ballads. 


The  handing  on  of  songs  by  oral  tradition  has  become  more  and  more  curtailed.  It  is  far  from 
extinct,  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  it  will  ever  completely  die  out  from  the  human  race;  but 
with  the  spread  of  literacy,  the  increasing  circulation  of  printed  matter,  the  introduction  of  phono- 
graphs, and  the  removal  of  old-time  isolation,  through  the  agency  of  railroads,  automobiles,  and 
(in  these  days)  of  airplanes,  the  singing  of  traditional  songs  plays  a  lessened  role. 

American  folk-song  as  a  whole  has  been  imported  from  the  Old  World.  This  is  becoming  less 
true,  but  it  still  holds.  Folk-songs  are  still  brought  across  the  Atlantic  by  newcomers;  and  a  large 
percentage  of  the  most  striking  and  persistent  pieces  current  in  America  are  derived  from  Old 
World  originals,  English,  Scottish,  or  Irish.  Many  survive  which  were  brought  over  long  ago,  or 
they  enter  in  new  form  with  some  shipload  of  immigrants.  Songs  recently  imported  still  win  foot- 
hold and  then  wander  from  community  to  community. 

LOUISE  POUND  in  American  Songs  and  Ballads. 


BARBRA  ALLEN 

Hard-hearted  Barbra  Allen  is  a  girl  who  figures  in  hundreds  of  ballads.  In  nearly  all  of  them 
Willie  dies  for  love  of  her  and  she,  with  a  wasted  heart,  goes  into  the  grave  beside  him.  That  is  the 
story.  But  the  last  verse  has  a  sequel.  The  rose  rises  from  one  grave,  the  briar  from  the  other; 
the  two  climb  to  the  top  of  the  old  church  tower  and  there  intertwine.  So  ends  the  story.  It  has 
been  told  and  sung  in  hundreds  of  dialects.  Usually  the  tune  is  stale,  flat,  monotonous.  The  one 
given  here  has  long  been  a  favorite  of  mine  and  the  friend  who  gave  it  to  me,  H.  L.  Davis,  the  Oregon 
poet  who  came  from  the  mountains  of  Georgia.  The  text  is  from  the  R.  W.  Gordon  collection. 
Sometimes,  in  the  singing  of  this  song,  I  get  the  feel  of  old,  gnarled,  thornapple  trees  and  white  crab- 
apple  blossoms  printed  momentarily  on  a  blue  sky,  of  evanescent  things,  of  the  paradox  of  tender 
and  cruel  forces  operating  together  in  life.  Perhaps  something  of  that  paradox  working  in  the  hearts 
of  people  has  kept  the  Barbra  Allen  story  alive  and  singing  through  three  centuries  and  more. 


in     love  withapret-ty  young  girl,     Her  name  was     Bar  -  bra    Al  -  len. 


1  In  London  City  where  I  once  did  dwell,  there's  where  I  got  my  learning, 
I  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  young  girl,  her  name  was  Barbra  Allen. 

2  I  courted  her  for  seven  long  years,  she  said  she  would  not  have  me; 
Then  straightway  home  as  I  could  go  and  liken  to  a  dying. 

3  I  wrote  her  a  letter  on  my  death  bed,  I  wrote  it  slow  and  moving; 
"Go  take  this  letter  to  my  old  true  love  and  tell  her  I  am  dying." 

4  She  took  the  letter  in  her  lily-white  hand,  she  read  it  slow  and  moving; 
"Go  take  this  letter  back  to  him,  and  tell  him  I  am  coming." 

5  As  she  passed  by  his  dying  bed  she  saw  his  pale  lips  quivering; 
"No  better,  no  better  1*11  ever  be  until  I  get  Barbra  Allen/' 

6  As  she  passed  by  his  dying  bed;   "You're  very  sick  and  almost  dying, 
No  better,  no  better  you  will  ever  be,  for  you  can't  get  Barbra  Allen/* 

7  As  she  went  down  the  long  stair  steps  she  heard  the  death  bell  toning, 
And  every  bell  appeared  to  say,  "Hard-hearted  Barbra  Allen!" 

8  As  she  went  down  the  long  piney  walk  she  heard  some  small  birds  singing, 
And  every  bird  appeared  to  say,  "Hard-hearted  Barbra  Allen!" 

9  She  looked  to  the  East,  she  looked  to  the  West,  she  saw  the  pale  corpse  coming 
"Go  bring  them  pale  corpse  unto  me,  and  let  me  gaze  upon  them. 

10  Oh,  mama,  mama,  go  make  my  bed,  go  make  it  soft  and  narrow! 
Sweet  Willie  died  today  for  me,  I'll  die  for  him  tomorrow!" 

11  They  buried  Sweet  Willie  in  the  old  church  yard,  they  buried  Miss  Barbra  beside  him; 
And  out  of  his  grave  there  sprang  a  red  rose,  and  out  of  hers  a  briar. 

12  They  grew  to  the  top  of  the  old  church  tower,  they  could  not  grow  any  higher, 
They  hooked,  they  tied  in  a  true  love's  knot,  red  rose  around  the  briar. 

57 


THE   FROZEN   GIRL 

An  old  ballad  is  often  like  an  old  silver  dagger  or  an  old  brass  pistol;  it  is  rusty,  or  greenish; 
it  is  ominous  with  ancient  fates  still  operating  today.  Thus  with  Charlotte,  who  was  worth  looking 
at,  who  was  very  fair,  who  "laughed  like  a  gypsy  queen,"  we  are  told.  The  tarnished  tale  of  her 
love  and  death  on  a  winter  night  is  to  be  found  in  the  balladry  of  all  the  peoples  of  northern  Europe. 
As  a  ballad  it  was  born  where  nights  are  bitter  cold  in  the  hard  winters.  It  is  a  puppet  play,  told 
instead  of  acted,  but  told  in  an  easy  narrative  tune.  The  dramatic  players  are  three:  (1)  Char- 
lottie,  the  heroine  who  dies;  (2)  Charles,  who  loves  her;  (3)  the  ruthless,  icy  weather.  In  America 
this  is  among  ballads  known  in  all  the  areas  into  which  the  English  settlers  spread;  it  is  of  mountain 
and  prairie.  The  text  here  is  from  Isadora  Bennett  Read  as  heard  in  an  isolated  mountain  region 
of  Georgia;  the  tune  is  from  Dr.  James  Lattimore  Himrod  of  Chicago,  author  of  "Johnny  Apple- 
seed,"  who  as  a  boy  in  southern  Indiana  heard  his  mother  sing  of  "the  frozen  girl."  Here  and 
elsewhere  it  may  be  noted,  the  mountain  people  take  priveleges  with  the  King's  English,  especially 
in  moments  of  stress  and.  distress.  At  that  "  monoment "  may  be  a  dramatic  vocable  as  good  as 
"monument." 


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And        yet, 

tie    liv'd 
on     man 

*  ^  —  LJ  ps  J  4.  L|  ^  1  *L  1 

on      a    moun  -  tain  top        in      a    bleak    and    lone  -  ly 
-  y       a     win  -    try  night,     young  swains  were  gath  -  ered 

spot,       There  were    no   oth  -  er    dwell-ings  there   ex-  cept   her     fa  -  ther's  cot. 
there;       Her    fa-therkept     a       so  -  cial  board    and  she   was      ver    -y      fair. 

1  Charlottie  liv'd  on  a  mountain  top  in  a  bleak  and  lonely  spot, 
There  were  no  other  dwellings  there  except  her  father's  cot. 

And  yet,  on  many  a  wintry  night,  young  swains  were  gathered  there; 
Her  father  kept  a  social  board  and  she  was  very  fair. 

2  On  a  New  Year's  Eve  as  the  sun  went  down,  far  looked  her  wishful  eye 
Out  from  the  frosty  win.dow  pane  as  a  merry  sleigh  dashed  by. 

At  a  village  fifteen  miles  away  was  to  be  a  ball  that  night, 

And  though  the  air  was  piercing  cold  her  heart  was  warm  and  light. 

3  How  brightly  gleamed  her  laughing  eye,  as  a  well  known  voice  she  heard; 
And  dashing  up  to  the  cottage  door  her  lover's  sleigh  appeared. 

"Oh,  daughter  dear,"  her  mother  cried,  "This  blanket  round  you  fold, 
Tonight  is  a  dreadful  one,  you'll  get  your  death  of  cold." 

4  "Oh,  nay,  oh  nay!"  Charlottie  cried,  as  she  laughed  like  a  gypsy  queen, 
"To  ride  in  blankets  muffled  up  I  never  would  be  seen; 

My  silken  cloak  is  quite  enough,  you  know  'tis  lined  throughout, 
And  there's  my  silken  scarf  to  twine  my  head  and  neck  about." 


THE   FROZEN  GIRL 

5  Her  bonnet  and  her  gloves  were  on,  she  leaped  into  the  sleigh, 

And  swiftly  they  sped  down  the  mountain  side  and  o'er  the  hills  away. 

With  muffled  beat  so  silently  five  miles  at  length  were  passed, 

When  Charles  with  a  few  and  shivering  words  the  silence  broke  at  last. 


6  "Such  a  dreadful  night,  I  never  saw,  the  reins  I  scarce  can  hold," 
Charlottic  faintly  then  replied,  "I  am  exceeding  cold/' 
He  cracked  his  whip,  he  urged  his  steed  much  faster  than  before; 
And  thus  five  other  weary  miles  in  silence  were  passed  o'er. 


7  Said  Charles:  "How  fast  the  shivering  ice  is  gathering  on  my  brow," 
And  Charlott'  then  more  faintly  cried,  "I'm  growing  warmer  now." 
Thus  on  they  rode  through  frosty  air  and  the  glittering  cold  starlight, 
Until  at  last  the  village  lamps  and  the  ballroom  came  in  sight. 


8  They  reached  the  door  and  Charles  sprang  out,  he  reached  his  hand  to  her, 
"Why  set  you  there  like  a  monoment  that  has  no  power  to  stir?" 
He  called  her  once,  he  called  her  twice,  she  answered  not  a  word; 
He  asked  her  for  her  hands  again,  but  still  she  never  stirred. 


9  He  took  her  hand  in  his,  —  'twas  cold  and  hard  as  any  stone; 
He  tore  the  mantle  from  her  face,  the  cold  stars  o'er  it  shone. 
Then  quickly  to  the  lighted  hall  her  lifeless  form  he  bore; 
Charlottie's  eyes  had  closed  for  aye,  her  voice  was  heard  no  more. 


10  And  there  he  sat  down  by  her  side,  while  bitter  tears  did  flow 

And  cried,  "My  own,  my  charming  bride,  'tis  you  may  never  know." 

He  twined  his  arms  around  her  neck,  he  kissed  her  marble  brow; 

His  thoughts  flew  back  to  where  she  said,  "I'm  growing  warmer  now." 


PRETTY  POLLY 

Murder  is  evil  but  what  shall  we  say  of  six  murders  of  young  women  for  the  sake  of  their  "costly 
clothing  "?  We  are  told  here  and  in  ancient  Scandinavian  ballads  of  a  man  who  drowned  six  women. 
But  the  seventh  and  last  of  his  brides  foiled  him  and  sent  him  to  his  death.  With  all  her  strength 
she  "pushed  him  into  the  sea"  and  that  was  his  end.  The  piece  is  an  ancient  one,  a  Scottish  text 
of  it,  "May  Colvin,"  appearing  in  David  Herd's  collection  published  in  1776.  In  English  ballad 
books  and  broadsides  it  has  been  variously  titled  "The  Old  Beau,"  "The  Outlandish  Knight," 
"False  Sir  John,"  and  "May  Colleen."  It  is  heard  in  variants  in  nearly  all  the  Appalachian  regions. 
This  version  is  from  the  R«  W.  Gordon  collection. 


"  Go       get        me   some     of   your  fa  -  ther's  gold      And  some     of   your  moth  -  er's 

ifttz; 


too. 


And     two       of     the       fin     -     est       hors  -   cs      he      has         in        his 


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1  "  Go  get  me  some  of  your  father's  gold 
And  some  of  your  mother's  too, 

And  two  of  the  finest  horses  he  has  in  his  stable, 
For  he  has  ten  and  thirty  and  two." 

2  She  got  him  some  of  her  father's  gold 
And  some  of  her  mother's  too, 

And  two  of  the  finest  horses  he  had  in  his  stable, 
For  he  had  ten  and  thirty  and  two. 

3  Then  she  jumped  on  the  noble  brown, 
And  he  on  the  dappled  gray, 

And  they  rode  till  they  came  to  the  side  of  the  sea, 
Two  long  hours  before  it  was  day. 

4  "Let  me  help  you  down,  my  Pretty  Polly; 
Let  me  help  you  down,"  said  he. 

"For  it's  six  kings'  daughters  I  have  drowned  here, 
And  the  seventh  you  shall  be." 

5  "Now  strip  yourself,  my  Pretty  Polly; 
Now  strip  yourself,"  said  he; 

"Your  clothing  is  too  fine  and  over-costly 
To  rot  in  the  sand  of  the  sea." 
60 


PRETTY  POLLY 

6  "You  turn  your  back  to  the  leaves  of  the  trees, 
And  your  face  to  the  sands  of  the  sea; 

Tis  a  pity  such  a  false-hearted  man  as  you 
A  naked  woman  should  see!" 

7  He  turned  his  back  to  the  leaves  of  the  trees, 
And  his  face  to  the  sand  of  the  sea; 

And  with  all  the  strength  that  Pretty  Polly  had 
She  pushed  him  into  the  sea. 

8  "Come,  lend  me  your  hand,  my  Pretty  Polly; 
Come,  lend  me  your  hand,"  said  he, 
"And  I  will  be  your  waiting-boy, 

And  will  wait  upon  you  night  and  day." 

9  "Lie  there,  lie  there,  you  false-hearted  man! 
Lie  there,  lie  there,"  said  she; 

"As  six  kings'  daughters  you've  drowned  here, 
Then  the  seventh  you  shall  be!" 

10  Then  she  jumped  on  the  noble  brown, 
And  led  the  dappled  gray, 

And  rode  till  she  came  to  her  father's  hall, 
Two  long  hours  before  it  was  day. 

11  Then  up  bespoke  her  Poll  Parrot, 
Sitting  in  his  cage  so  gay, 

"Why  do  you  travel,  rny  Pretty  Polly, 
So  long  before  it  is  day?" 

12  Then  up  bespoke  her  old  father, 
Lying  in  his  room  so  gay, 

"Why  do  you  chatter,  my  pretty  parrot, 
So  long  before  it  is  day?" 

13  "The  cat  was  around  and  about  ray  cage, 
And  I  could  not  get  it  away 

So  I  called  unto  Miss  Pretty  Polly 
To  drive  the  cat  away." 

14  "Well  turned,  well  turned,  my  pretty  parrot, 
Well  turned,  well  turned  for  me; 

Thy  cage  shall  be  made  of  handbeaten  gold, 
Thy  door  of  the  finest  ivory." 


61 


COMMON  BILL 

Women  keep  songs  alive  that  men  would  let  die.  R.  W.  Gordon  and  others  find  "Common 
Bill"  sung  almost  exclusively  by  women.  It  is  not  a  man's  song.  The  way  of  a  maid  with  a  man, 
the  stratagems  and  maneuvers  of  women,  their  changing  moods  and  fertile  excuses  are  presented  in 
the  progress  of  this  sketch  dealing  with  Bill  and  the  woman  who  was  good  to  him,  who  could  have 
been  mean  but  who  had  mercy  in  her  heart.  Verses  and  melody  here  are  from  Mary  O.  Eddy  and 

her  neighbors  of  Perrysville,  Ohio. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


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1  I  will  tell  you  of  a  fellow, 

Of  a  fellow  I  have  seen; 
Who  is  neither  white  nor  yellow, 

But  is  altogether  green; 
And  his  name  it  isn't  charming, 

For  it's  only  common  Bill, 
And  he  wishes  me  to  wed  him, 

But  I  hardly  think  I  will. 

2  He  was  here  the  other  night, 

And  he  made  so  long  a  stay 
I  began  to  think  the  gump-head 

Would  never  go  away; 
Oh,  he  talked  of  devotion, 

Of  devotion  pure  and  bright, 
And  don't  you  think  the  fool-killer 

He  nearly  stayed  all  night. 

3  And  he  wants  me  for  to  wed  him, 

And  the  very  deuce  is  in  it, 
For  he  says  if  I  refuse  him 

He  cannot  live  a  minute; 
And  you  know  the  blessed  Bible 

It  teaches  not  to  kill, 
And  I've  thought  the  matter  over, 

And  I  guess  I'll  marry  Bill. 


68 


LITTLE  SCOTCH-EE 

The  little  drama  presented  here  is  as  somber  with  groaning  shadows  as  certain  scenes  from  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare  or  those  chapters  in  the  Bible  dealing  with  Samson  and  Delilah  or  the  woman 
known  as  Jezebel.  Sung  deliberately  and  with  understanding  of  its  implications,  delivered  as  a 
series  of  character  roles  and  situations  having  contrast,  it  has  the  pride  of  an  ancient  tapestry,  with 
gashes  of  knife  thrusts  and  splotches  of  red  that  are  on  second  look  found  to  be  dry  blood.  We  are 
indebted  for  this  text  to  Reed  Smith  of  the  University  of  South  Carolina  and  his  original  work  in 
"The  Traditional  Ballad  and  Its  South  Carolina  Survivals,"  published  by  the  Extension  Division 
of  the  University  of  South  Carolina.  The  ballad  is  hoary,  of  many  variants,  sometimes  called 
"  Young  Hunting,"  known  in  America  usually  as  "Lord  Henry,"  "Love  Henry,"  or  "Loving  Henry." 
This  specimen  of  "The  Old  Scotch  Well,"  or  "Little  Scotch-ee,"  is  from  Miss  Tressie  Pierce  of  Co- 
lumbia, South  Carolina,  who  learned  it  in  Alexander  County,  North  Carolina. 


1.  " Light,  light,        light,     my        lit     -    tie        Scotch-ee,    And    stay       all      night    with 

2.  "  I      can  -  not  light,    and         I       will    not     light,         And    stay       all     night    with 


.jr.  ^    ^  * 


me;         I     have     a      bed  of     the  ver  -  y,  ver  -  y      best,        I'll    give    it     up  to 

thee;     For  there's  a      girl    in     the  old  Scotcli    Yard,    This  night   a  -  wait  -  ing  for 


V  2,  3,  4,  5,  6  &  S  verses 


This  night  a  -  wait  -  ing     for    me." 


1  "Light,  light,  light,  my  little  Scotch-ee, 

And  stay  all  night  with  me; 
I  have  a  bed  of  the  very,  very  best, 
1*11  give  it  up  to  thee, 
I'll  give  it  up  to  thee." 

2  "  I  cannot  light,  and  I  will  not  light, 

And  stay  all  night  with  thee; 
For  there's  a  girl  in  the  old  Scotch  Yard, 
This  night  a-waiting  for  me, 
This  night  a-waiting  for  me." 

S  "You  cannot  light,  and  you  will  not  light, 

But  from  me  you'll  never  part;" 
She  took  a  pen-knife  from  her  side, 
And  pierced  him  in  the  heart, 
And  pierced  him  in  the  heart. 

64 


.      LITTLE  SCOTCH-EE 

4  She  called  unto  her  little  lady  miss, 

"Come  unto  me  I  say; 
For  there's  a  dead  man  in  my  bed, 
Come  carry  him  away, 
Come  carry  him  away." 


5  She  called  unto  her  little  lady  miss, 

"Count  the  hours,  one,  two,  three; 
Are  the  chickens  a-crowing  for  the  middle  of  the  night, 
Or  are  they  a-crowing  for  day, 
Or  are  they  a-crowing  for  day?" 


6  Some  took  him  by  the  lily-white  hand, 

Some  took  him  by  the  feet, 
And  threw  him  into  a  new-dug  well, 
Some  forty  feet  deep, 
Some  forty  feet  deep. 


"Light,  light,  light,  my  little  birdie, 

And  settle  on  my  knee; 
I  have  a  cage  of  the  very,  very  best, 

I'll  give  it  up  to  thee, 

I'll  give  it  up  to  thee." 


"I  cannot  light,  and  I  will  not  light, 

And  settle  on  your  knee; 
For  I'm  afraid  you  will  sarve  me  like  you  sarved 

Your  little  Scotch-ee, 

Your  little  Scotch-ee." 


65 


THE   HOUSE   CARPENTER 


This  is  among  the  hoary  and  tarnished  keepsakes  of  the  ballad  world.  In  the  days  before 
there  were  daily  newspapers,  or  even  weekly  "intelligencers/*  schools  were  few,  and  people  who 
could  read  and  write  were  scarce.  Then  ballads  flourished,  and  ballad  singers  were  in  every  tavern 
where  men  drank  ale,  and  in  every  hay  or  rye  field  where  men  gathered  the  crops.  The  House 
Carpenter,  in  style,  story,  method,  has  some  of  the  leading  characteristics  of  many  of  the 
oldest  ballads.  Of  course,  repeating  the  last  two  lines  of  every  verse  as  indicated  in  the  music  here, 
is  not  necessary  at  all.  Leave  out  the  last  two  lines  if  you  like,  but  don't  forget  that  among  antiques 
this  song  is  as  quaint  to  some  of  us  as  a  mezzotint  portrait  in  the  lid  of  a  snuff  box  of  one  of  General 
Washington's  staff  officers. 


the 


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king's  daugh-ter    fair, 


had 


an 


a  king's  daughter  fair,  And  she  fain  would  have  inar  -  ried    me." 


1  "I  have  just  come  from  the  salt,  salt  sea, 

And  'twas  all  on  account  of  thee; 
For  I've  had  an  offer  of  a  king's  daughter  fair, 
And  she  fain  would  have  married  me." 
(Repeat  the  last  two  lines  in  each  verse) 

£  "If  you've  had  an  offer  of  a  king's  daughter  fair, 

I  think  you're  much  to  blame; 
For  I've  lately  been  married  to  a  house  carpenter, 
And  I  think  he's  a  nice  young  man." 

3  "  If  you'll  forsake  your  house  carpenter, 

And  come  along  with  me, 
I  will  take  you  to  where  the  grass  grows  green, 
On  the  banks  of  Italy." 

4  "If  I'd  forsake  my  house  carpenter, 

And  go  along  with  you, 

And  you'd  have  nothing  to  support  me  upon, 
Oh,  then  what  would  I  do?" 
66 


THE  HOUSE   CARPENTER 

5  "I  have  three  ships  upon  the  main, 

All  sailing  for  dry  land, 
And  twenty-five  jolly  sailor  lads 
That  you  can  have  at  your  command." 

6  She  dressed  herself  in  rich  array, 

AH  from  her  golden  store, 
And  as  she  walked  the  streets  all  'round, 
She  shone  like  a  glittering  star. 

7  She  called  her  baby  unto  her, 

And  gave  it  kisses  three, 

Saying,  "Stay  at  home,  my  pretty  little  babe, 
And  be  your  father's  company/* 

8  We  had  not  sailed  more  than  two  weeks, 

I'm  sure  it  was  not  three, 
Till  this  fair  maid  began  to  weep, 
And  she  wept  most  bitterly. 

9  "Oh,  why  do  you  weep,  my  pretty  maid? 

Do  you  weep  for  your  golden  store, 
Or  do  you  weep  for  your  house  carpenter 
Which  you  never  shall  see  any  more?" 

10  "I  do  not  weep  for  my  house  carpenter, 

Or  for  my  golden  store, 
But  I  do  weep  for  my  pretty  little  babe 
Which  I  never  shall  see  any  more." 

11  We  had  not  sailed  more  than  three  weeks, 

I'm  sure  it  was  not  four, 
Till  our  gallant  ship  she  sprang  a  leak, 
And  she  sank  to  rise  no  more. 

12  Once  around  went  our  gallant  ship, 

Twice  around  went  she, 
Three  limes  around  went  our  gallant  ship, 
And  she  sank  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

13  Oh,  cursed  be  the  sea-going  train, 

And  all  the  sailors'  lives, 
For  the  robbing  of  the  house  carpenter, 
And  the  taking  away  of  his  wife. 


A  PRETTY   FAIR  MAID 


Occasionally  the  verses  of  a  song  make  a  good  story  if  only  read,  and  not  sung  at  all.  In  the 
case  of  "A  Pretty  Fair  Maid"  there  is  a  whimsically  sweet  air  going  with  an  oddly  spoken  story. 
What  lively,  old,  old-fashioned  gossip  we  have  here! 

™  A     *  Arr.  E.  M. 

Moderato 


A       pret  -  ty     fair     maid  all        in         a 

•~    r          ~i  ^ 


* »^^pZ^^ 


I      ' 


gar  -  den,        A        sail  -  or       boy  came    pass  -  ing      by;  lie  stepped    a    - 


side  and  thus  ad-dressed  her,       Say  -  ing/'Pret-ty  fair  maid,won't  you  be  my  bride?'* 

7        T    _^ j 


— -\ 


£==£ 


68 


A   PRETTY  FAIR  MAID 

1  A  pretty  fair  maid  all  in  a  garden, 

A  sailor  boy  came  passing  by; 
He  stepped  aside  and  thus  addressed  her, 

Saying,  "Pretty  fair  maid,  won't  you  be  my  bride?" 

2  "I  have  a  sweetheart  on  the  ocean, 

For  seven  long  years  has  been  to  sea, 
And  if  he  stays  for  seven  years  longer 
No  other  man  shall  marry  me." 

8  "  Perhaps  your  sweetheart  he  is  drown ded, 

Perhaps  he's  in  some  battle  slain, 
Perhaps  he's  to  some  pretty  girl  married, 
And  he  shall  ne'er  return  again." 

4  "Oh!  if  my  sweetheart  he  is  drownded, 

Or  if  he's  in  some  battle  slain, 
Or  if  he's  to  some  pretty  girl  married, 
I'll  love  the  girl  that  married  him." 

5  "My  sweetheart  he  is  neither  drownded 

Nor  is  he  in  some  battle  slain, 
Nor  is  he  to  some  pretty  girl  married, 
For  he  is  by  my  side  again." 

6  He  put  his  hands  in  both  his  pockets, 

His  fingers  they  were  long  and  slirn, 
And  unto  me  he  drew  a  gold  locket, 
And  to  my  feet  his  knees  did  bend. 

7  "I  have  six  ships  all  on  the  ocean, 

And  they  are  loaded  to  the  brim, 
And  if  I'm  worthy  of  such  a  young  lady, 
I  care  not  if  they  sink  or  swirn." 


69 


LORD   LOVEL 

Among  the  most  widespread  ballads  in  the  United  States  is  "Lord  Lovel."  The  version  here 
is  from  the  collection  of  Reed  Smith  of  the  University  of  South  Carolina;  the  melody  is  from  W.  R. 
Dehon  and  the  text  from  Caroline  S.  Dickinson.  The  mood  and  way  of  this  song  is  peculiar.  It 
is  to  be  sung  and  not  read.  Why  this  is  so,  Mr.  Smith  explains  in  this  note:  "'Lord  Lovcl'  clearly 
shows  how  necessary  it  is  to  deal  with  ballads  as  songs  and  not  merely  as  poems.  The  text  of  'Lord 
Lovel'  is  sad  and  mournful.  The  tune,  however,  is  lilting  and  rollicking,  and  with  the  triple  repe- 
tition of  the  last  word  of  the  fourth  line,  turns  the  tear  into  a  smile.  The  difference  between  reading 
it  as  a  poem  and  singing  it  as  a  song  is  the  difference  between  tragedy  and  comedy." 


3^^£E^F2EE»E 
-^^^ dbEEiz^S- 


comb -ing    his  milk-white     steed;  When     a  -  long  came   La   -  dy   Nan-  cy    Bell,     A  - 


wish-  ing  her    lov  -  er  good  speed,speed,speed,  A  -  wish-  ing    her    lov  -  cr   good     speed. 


1  Lord  Lovcl  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate, 

A-combing  his  milk-white  steed; 
When  along  came  Lady  Nancy  Bell, 

A- wishing  her  lover   good   speed,   speed, 

speed, 
A-wishing  her  lover  good  speed. 

2  "Oh  where  are  you  going,  Lord  Lovel?"  she 

said; 

"Oh  where  are  you  going?"  said  she. 
"I'm  going,  my  dear  Lady  Nancy  Bell, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see,  see,  see, 
Strange  countries  for  to  see." 

3  "When  will  you  be  back,  Lord  Lovel?"  she 

said; 

"When  will  you  be  back?"  said  she. 
"In  a  year  or  two  or  three  at  the  most 
I'll  return  to  my  Lady  Nancee-cee,  cee, 
I'll  return  to  rny  Lady  Nancec." 

4  He'd  not  been  gone  but  a  year  and  a  day, 

Strange  countries  for  to  see, 
When  languishing  thoughts   came  into  his 

mind 
Lady  Nancy  Bell  he  would  see. 

5  He  rode  and  he  rode  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Till  he  reached  fair  London  Town; 


And  there  he  heard  St.  Varney's  bell 
And  the  people  all  mourning  around. 

6  "Is  any  one  dead?"  Lord  Lovcl  he  said; 

"Is  any  one  dead?"  said  he. 
"A  lady  is  dead,"  the  people  all  said, 
"And  they  call  her  Lady  Nancy." 

7  He  ordered  the  grave  to  be  opened  forthwith, 

The  shroud  to  be  folded  down; 
And  then  he  kissed  her  clay-cold  lips 
Till  the  tears  came  trickling  down. 

8  Lady  Nancy  she  died  as  it  might  be  today, 

Lord  Lovel  he  died  tomorrow. 
Lady  Nancy  she  died  of  pure,  pure  grief, 
Lord  Lovel  he  died  of  sorrow. 

9  Lady    Nancy    was    laid    in    St.    Clement's 

churchyard, 

Lord  Lovcl  was  buried  close  by  her; 
And  out  of  her  bosom  there  grew  a  red  rose, 

And  out  of  his  backbone  a  briar. 
10  They  grew  and  they  grew  on  the  old  church 

tower, 

Till  they  couldn't  grow  up  any  higher; 
And  there  they  tied  in  a  true  lover's  knot, 
For  all  true  lovers  to  admire. 


70 


THE   QUAKER'S   WOOING 


The  Quakers  were  ever  a  stubborn  people  —  of  sweet  ways  and  deep  faiths.  The  men  wore 
black  hats  with  broad  brims,  the  women  wore  black  bonnets  with  white  facings.  Their  love-making 
may  have  had  some  of  the  rich  though  simple  tinting  in  this  old  English  tune  and  verses.  Something 
about  it  is  as  genuine  as  the  wood  grain  of  an  unvarnished,  black  walnut,  four-post  bed.  This 
comes  from  Miss  Harriet  Louise  Abbott  of  Bethel,  Ohio,  as  communicated  to  Mary  O.  Eddy. 


_  ii  r i    

3EE5fe4^feE 


had      a   true  love   but     she  left   me, 


Oh,      oh,       oh,      oh,     And 


feEEESES 


m 


now    am   bro  -  ken  heart-cd, 


Oh,     oh,     oh,     oh/"4  Well,    if  she's  gone  I  would-n't 


mind  her,    ..    Fol     de     rol       de    hey     ding    di      do,       You'll  soon     find  one      that'll 


^— 

^riftf* 


— 


prove  much  kind-  er,     Fol      dc   rol      dc    hey    ding      day. 

1  "I  had  a  true  love  but  she  left  me, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh, 
And  I  now  am  broken-hearted, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh." 
"Well,  if  she's  gone  I  wouldn't  mind  her, 

Fol  de  rol  de  hey  ding  di  do. 
You'll  soon  find  one  that'll  prove  much  kinder, 

Fol  de  rol  de  hey  ding  day." 

2  "I've  a  house  and  forty  servants, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh, 
And  thcc  may  be  the  mistress  of  them, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh." 
"I'll  not  do  your  scolding  for  you, 

Fol  de  rol  dc  hey  ding  di  do, 
'Deed  I  feel  myself  above  you, 

Fol  de  rol  de  hey  <Jing  day." 

3  "I've  a  ring  worth  twenty  shillings, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh, 
And  thee  may  wear  it,  if  thee's  willing, 

Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh." 
"What  care  I  for  rings  or  money, 

Fol  de  rol  de  hey  ding  di  do, 
I'm  for  the  man  who  calls  me  honey, 

Fol  de  rol  de  hey  ding  day." 
71 


TJ:I 


I've    a) 


THE   MAID   FREED   FROM   THE   GALLOWS 

One  time  long  ago,  it  seems,  the  law  came  down  on  a  young  woman.  And  she  was  to  be  hanged. 
And  her  father  came,  her  mother,  her  brother,  sister,  aunt,  uncle,  cousins.  Yet  not  one  would  help 
her  with  gold  or  fee.  They  all  wanted  her  hanged.  Then  came  her  true  love  and  he  freed  her  from 
the  gallows;  he  slacked  the  hangman's  rope.  So  goes  the  story.  We  do  not  know  just  how  many 
centuries  it  has  been  going.  The  text  and  tune  here  are  from  the  admirable  Reed  Smith  Ballads 
published  by  the  University  of  South  Carolina. 


"  Slack  your  rope,  hangs  -  a-man,    0    slack   it      for      a  -  while;       I     think  I       see     my 
fa-ther  com-ing,  Rid -ing  man-y       a    mile."  "  O     fa  -  ther,  have  you  brought  me  gold  ?> 


Or  have  you      paid      my      fee  ?      Or     have  you     come      to       see     me    hang-  ing 


On      the   gal-lows     tree  ?  "  "  I      have  not  brought  you  gold;        I     have  not     paid  yoiu 


fee;     But       I  have   come     to      see    you  hang-ing      On     the     gal -lows     tree." 


"Slack  your  rope,  hangs-a-man, 

0  slack  it  for  a  while; 

I  think  I  see  my  father  coming, 

Riding  many  a  mile." 
"O  father,  have  you  brought  me  gold? 

Or  have  you  paid  ray  fee? 
Or  have  you  come  to  see  me  hanging 

On  the  gallows-tree?" 
"I  have  not  brought  you  gold; 

1  have  not  paid  your  fee; 

But  I  have  come  to  sec  you  hanging 
On  the  gallows-tree." 

"Slack  your  rope,  hangs-a-man, 

0  slack  it  for  a  while; 
I  think  I  see  my  mother  coming, 

Riding  many  ajnile." 
"O  mother,  have  you  brought  me  gold? 

Or  have  you  paid  my  fee? 
Or  have  you  come  to  see  me  hanging 


On  the  gallows-tree?" 
"I  have  not  brought  you  gold; 

I  have  not  paid  your  fee; 
But  I  have  come  to  see  you  hanging 

On  the  gallows-tree/' 

(And  so  on  for  brother,  sister,  aunt,  uncle, 
cousin,  etc.) 

3  "Slack  your  rope,  hangs-a-man, 

0  slack  it  for  a  while; 
I  think  I  see  my  true-love  coming 

Riding  many  a  mile." 
"O  true-love,  have  you  brought  me  gold? 

Or  have  you  paid  rny  fee? 
Or  have  you  come  to  sec  me  hanging 

On  the  gallows-tree?" 
"Yes,  I  have  brought  you  gold; 

Yes,  I  have  paid  your  fee; 
Nor  have  I  come  to  see  you  hanging 

On  the  gallows-tree." 


FRANKIE  AND  HER  MAN 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAGE 

FRANKIE   AND   ALBERT Edward  ColllHS         ....  75 

FRANKIE  AND  JOHNNY Edward  Collins       ....  78 

FRANKIE  BLUES Edward  Collins       ....  82 

JOSIE Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  84 

BADIE 86 


73 


FRANKIE   AND   ALBERT 

A  Frankie  song  is  like  a  grand  opera  role;  interpretations  vary.  The  Leighton  brothers  run 
a  gamut  of  emotions;  John  Lomax  delivers  a  quizzically  mournful  monotone;  Sig  Spaeth  vocalizes 
it  like  a  gnome  riding  a  gnu  with  gnats  mellifluously.  The  maxim,  "Life  is  a  tragedy  to  those 
who  feel,  a  comedy  to  those  who  think,"  may  go  for  viewpoints  on  this  ballad.  It  is  stark  and  fierce, 
it  is  serio-comic,  or  it  is  blah-blah  —  as  you  like  it. 

If  America  has  a  classical  gutter  song,  it  is  the  one  that  tells  of  Frankie  and  her  man.  Josie, 
Sadie,  Lillie,  Annie,  are  a  few  of  her  aliases;  she  has  many.  Prof.  II.  M.  Belden  of  the  University 
of  Missouri  showed  me  sixteen  Frankie  songs,  all  having  the  same  story  though  a  few  are  located  in 
the  back  country  and  in  bayous  instead  of  the  big  city.  Then  I  met  up  with  R.  W.  Gordon;  he  has 
110  Frankie  songs,  and  is  still  picking  up  new  ones.  R.  Emmett  Kennedy  in  his  remarkably  thorough 
and  valuable  book,  "Mellows"  has  a  song,  "My  Baby  in  a  Guinea  Blue  Gown,"  which  belongs  in 
the  Frankie  discussion  because  its  tune  may  have  been  the  grandfather  of  the  most  widely  known 
Frankie  melodies.  The  Frankie  and  Albert  song,  as  partly  given  here,  was  common  along  the 
Mississippi  river  and  among~railroad  men  of  the  middle  west  as  early  as  1888.  It  is  a  simple  and 
mournful  air,  of  the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor.  The  Frankie  and  Johnny  song  is  of  later 
development,  with  notes  of  violence  and  flashes  of  exasperation.  The  Frankie  Blues  came  still 
later,  and  with  its  "blue"  notes  is,  of  course,  "meaner"  as  a  song.  In  many  colleges  are  groups 
who  sing  Frankie  songs  in  ragtime  manner,  with  lackadaisical  verses.  As  our  American  culture 
advances,  it  may  be  that  classes  will  take  up  the  Frankie  songs  as  seriously  as  a  play  by  Molicre  or 
a  Restoration  comedy  or  the  Provencal  ballads  of  France.  It  may  be  said  that  the  Frankie  songs, 
at  best,  are  an  American  parallel  of  certain  European  ballads  of  low  life,  that  are  rendered  by  impor- 
tant musical  artists  from  the  Continent  for  enthusiastic  audiences  in  Carnegie  Hall,  New  York,  or 
Orchestra  Hall,  Chicago.  Some  day,  perhaps,  we  may  arrive  at  a  better  common  understanding 
of  our  own  art  resources  and  how  to  use  them.  While  the  Frankie  story  deals  with  crime,  violence, 
murder,  adultery,  its  percentage  in  these  respects  is  a  good  deal  less  than  in  the  average  grand  opera. 

Lastly,  for  those  about  to  sing  this  piece,  we  should  note  that  in  several  places,  in  San  Francisco, 
Omaha,  Fort  Worth,  Fort  Smith,  Fort  Scott  and  Dubuque  the  verse  about  the  man  under  the  doctor's 
care  crying,  "Roll  me  over  easy,"  or  "Turn  me  over,  doctor,"  has  no  tune;  all  present  joining  in  a 
wide,  wild,  disconnected  wailing.  Also,  we  note,  by  alternating  the  names  of  Albert  and  Johnny, 
or  Frankie,  Josie,  Sadie,  any  verse  of  any  song  goes  for  all.  The  air  of  version  II  of  Frankie  and 
Johnny,  carries  all  the  verses  of  version  I,  except  that  the  repeat,  "  so  wrong  "  isn't  used.  While 
it  may  seem  a  discrepancy  that  Frankie,  threatened  with  the  electric  chair,  ends  her  days  on  the 
gallows,  it  should  also  be  understood  that  several  versions  of  the  song  picture  her  starting  to  join 
a  county  chain  gang,  wearing  a  ball  and  chain  attached  to  one  of  her  ankles. 


FRANKIE  AND  ALBERT 


Air.  E.  C. 


aa— — 


Frankie  and  Albert  were  sweethearts,e  v  'ry  -  bod-y 


iS 


^E^ 


#= 


-» 


knows, 


Frank-ie  spent  a    hun-dred  dol  -  lars    just  to  get    her    man     some 


clothes ;  He  was  her     man, but  he  done  her    wrong. 


poco  marcato 


g^^^S^^SSS^ ; 

d    |    ^   <J*h_          — ^^~^~~^     I  ~*-m  •  eJ  •'          r~t"     g^ 

f^^^j^^g^ 


1  Frankie  and  Albert  were  sweethearts,  everybody  knows, 
Frankie  spent  a  hundred  dollars  just  to  get  her  man  some  clothes; 

He  was  her  man,  but  he  done  her  wrong. 

2  Frankie  went  down  to  the  corner,  took  along  a  can, 

Says  to  the  lovin'  bartender,  "Has  you  seen  my  lovin'  man? 
He  is  my  man,  but  he's  doin*  me  wrong." 

76 


FRANKIE  AND  ALBERT 


S  "Well,  I  ain't  gonna  tell  you  no  story,  ain't  gonna  tell  you  no  lie, 

Albert  went  by  'bout  an  hour  ago,  with  a  girl  called  Alice  Fry; 

He  was  your  man,  but  he's  doin'  you  wrong." 

4  Frankie's  gone  from  the  corner,  Frankie  ain't  gone  for  fun, 
Underneath  her  apron  she's  got  Albert's  gatlin'  gun; 

He  was  her  man,  but  he  done  her  wrong. 

5  Albert  sees  Frankie  comin',  out  the  back  door  he  did  scoot, 
Frankie  pulled  out  the  pistol,  went  roota-de-toot-toot-toot. 

He  was  her  man,  but  she  shot  him  down. 

6  Frankie  shot  him  once,  Frankie  shot  him  twice, 
Third  time  that  she  shot  him  the  bullet  took  his  life; 

He  was  her  man,  but  he  done  her  wrong. 

7  When  Frankie  shot  Albert,  he  fell  down  on  his  knees, 
Looked  up  at  her  and  said,  "Oh,  Frankie,  please, 

Don't  shoot  me  no  ino',  don't  shoot  me  no  mo'." 

8  "Oh,  turn  me  over,  doctor;   turn  me  over  slow, 

Turn  me  over  on  my  right  side,  'cause  the  bullet  am  hurtin'  me  so 
I  was  her  man,  but  I  done  her  wrong." 

9  Now  it's  rubber-tired  carriages,  decorated  hack, 

Eleven  men  went  to  the  graveyard,  and  only  ten  come  back: 
He  was  her  man,  but  he's  dead  and  gone. 

10  Frankie  was  a-standin'  on  the  corner,  watchin'  de  hearse  go  by, 
Throwed  her  arms  into  the  air,  "Oh,  let  me  lie 

By  the  side  of  my  man,  what  done  me  wrong." 

11  Frankie  went  to  the  graveyard,  bowed  down  on  her  knees, 
"Speak  one  word  to  me,  Albert,  an'  give  my  heart  some  ease. 

You  was  my  man,  but  I  done  you  wrong." 

12  Sheriff  arrested  Frankie,  took  her  to  the  county  jail, 
Locked  her  up  in  a  dungeon  cell,  and  throwcd  the  keys  away. 

She  shot  her  man,  said  he  done  her  wrong. 

13  Judge  tried  liF  Frankie,  under  an  electric  fan; 

Judge  says,  "Yo'  free  woman  now,  go  kill  yourself  anothah  man. 
He  was  yo*  man,  now  he's  dead  an'  gone." 


77 


FRANK1E  AND  JOHNNY 


Arr.  E.  C. 


^M=j= 


Frank-ie    and  John -ny  were  lov  -  ers,     .          O    lord-y    how  they  could  love. 


sH 


5 


fed 


cresc. 


*|^E 


g=g- 


Swore  to   be  true      to  each  oth  -  er, 
8 

=J= 


true    as       the    stars         a  - 


1 


cre^c. 


2 


J.._  rJr^FjEp- 


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^  1      ^       v       m  • 

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bove;    I 

[e  was     he 

T 

man 

but  he  done  her 

—=a  ^  —  £_, 

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wrong, 

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FRANKIE  AND  JOHNNY 


-T£*  h    J    J  J    1*  —  i  ;  

—  p  pr  p  |S  zq 

:gn  j   «r   •*    r^.*1   •i  —  J  —  3  —  ^-  —  j   «r   *  —  ^^  —  *—-  j  — 

Frank  -ie     and     John  -  ny   were      lov  -    ers,         O    lord  -  y        how        they  could 

\l                                                         ,.               K              ni                            m                   p 

—m  »  s  — 

_^k  —  ^  j  J!  J  mL  —  [           |  *: 

iztf  P    f 

-t^  —  b^  — 

love.            They    swore     to        be     true         to         each   oth    -   er,              true       as     the 

stars      a    -    bove;            He       was             her     man 

but    he   done      her      i 

—  —  H 

ivrong. 

1  Frankie  and  Johnny  were  lovers,  O  lordy  how  they  could  love. 
Swore  to  be  true  to  each  other,  true  as  the  stars  above; 

He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

2  Johnny's  mother  told  him,  and  she  was  mighty  wise, 
Don't  spend  Frankie's  money  on  that  parlor  Ann  Eliz; 
You're  Frankie's  man,  and  you're  doin'  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

3  Frankie  and  Johnny  went  walking,  Johnny  in  his  bran'  new  suit, 
"0  good  Lawd,"  says  Frankie,  "Don't  my  Johnny  look  cute?" 
He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

4  Frankie  went  down  to  the  corner,  to  buy  a  glass  of  beer; 

She  says  to  the  fat  bartender,  "Has  niy  lovinest  man  been  here? 
He  was  my  man  but  he's  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 

5  Frankie  went  down  to  the  pawn  shop,  she  bought  herself  a  little  forty-four 
She  aimed  it  at  the  ceiling,  shot  a  big  hole  in  the  floor; 

"Where  is  my  man,  he's  doin'  me  wrong,  so  wrong?" 

6  Frankie  went  back  to  the  hotel,  she  didn't  go  there  for  fun, 
'Cause  under  her  long  red  kimono  she  toted  a  forty -four  gun. 
He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

7  Frankie  went  down  to  the  hotel,  looked  in  the  window  so  high, 
There  she  saw  her  lovin'  Johnny  a-lovin'  up  Alice  Bly; 

He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

8  Frankie  went  down  to  the  hotel,  she  rang  that  hotel  bell, 
"Stand  back  all  of  you  floozies  or  I'll  blow  you  all  to  hell, 
I  want  my  man,  he's  doin'  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 


FRANKIE  AND  JOHNNY 

9  Frankie  threw  back  her  kimono,  she  took  out  her  forty-four. 

Root-a-toot-toot,  three  times  she  shot,  right  through  that  hardwood  floor, 
She  shot  her  man,  'cause  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

10  Johnny  grabbed  off  his  Stetson,  "O  good  Lawd,  Frankie,  don't  shoot." 
But  Frankie  put  her  finger  on  the  trigger,  and  the  gun  went  roota-toot-toot, 
He  was  her  man  but  she  shot  him  down. 

11  Johnny  saw  Frankie  a  comin',  down  the  backstairs  he  did  scoot; 
Frankie  had  the  little  gun  out,  let  him  have  it  rooty -de-toot; 
For  he  was  her  man,  but  she  shot  him  down. 

12  Johnny  he  mounted  the  staircase,  cried,  "O  Frankie  don't  shoot!" 
Three  times  she  pulled  the  forty-four  gun  a  rooty-toot-toot-toot-toot, 
She  nailed  the  man  what  threw  her  down. 

13  "Roll  me  over  easy,  roll  me  over  slow, 

Roll  me  over  easy,  boys,  'cause  my  wounds  they  hurt  me  so, 
But  I  was  her  man,  and  I  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong." 

14  "Oh  my  baby,  kiss  me  once  before  I  go. 

Turn  me  over  on  my  right  side,  doctor,  where  de  bullet  hurt  me  so. 
I  was  her  man  but  I  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong." 

15  Johnny  he  was  a  gambler,  he  gambled  for  the  gain. 

The  very  last  words  he  ever  said  were,  "High-low  Jack  and  the  game." 
He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

16  Bring  out  your  long  black  coffin,  bring  out  your  funeral  clo'es; 
Bring  back  Johnny's  mother;  to  the  churchyard  Johnny  goes. 
He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

17  Frankie  went  to  his  coffin,  she  looked  down  on  his  face. 

She  said,  "O  Lawd,  have  mercy  on  me,  I  wish  I  could  take  his  place, 
He  was  my  man,  and  I  done  him  wrong,  so  wrong." 

18  Oh  bring  on  your  rubber-tired  hearses,  bring  on  your  rubber-tired  hacks, 
They're  takin'  Johnny  to  the  buryin*  groun*  an'  they  won't  bring  a  bit  of  him  back; 
He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

19  Frankie  stood  on  the  corner  to  watch  the  funeral  go  by; 

"Bring  back  my  poor  dead  Johnny  to  me,"  to  the  undertaker  she  did  say, 
"He  was  my  man,  but  he  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 

20  Frankie  heard  a  rumbling  away  down  in  the  ground, 
Maybe  it  was  little  Johnny  where  she  had  shot  him  down. 
He  was  her  man  and  she  done  him  wrong,  so  wrong. 

80 


FRANKIE  AND  JOHNNY 

21  Frankie  went  to  Mrs.  Halcomb,  she  fell  down  on  her  knees, 
She  said,  "Mrs.  Halcomb,  forgive  me,  forgive  me,  if  you  please, 
For  I've  killed  my  man  what  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 

22  "Forgive  you,  Frankie  darling,  forgive  you  I  never  can. 
Forgive  you,  Frankie  darling,  for  killing  your  only  man, 
Oh  he  was  your  man  tho'  he  done  you  wrong,  so  wrong." 

23  Frankie  said  to  the  warden,  "What  are  they  goin'  to  do?" 
The  warden  he  said  to  Frankie,  "It's  the  electric  chair  for  you, 
You  shot  your  man  tho'  he  done  you  wrong,  so  wrong." 

24  The  sheriff  came  around  in  the  morning,  said  it  was  all  for  the  best, 
He  said  her  lover  Johnny  was  nothin*  but  a  doggone  pest. 

He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

25  The  judge  said  to  the  jury,  "It's  as  plain  as  plain  can  be; 
This  woman  shot  her  lover,  it's  murder  in  the  second  degree, 
He  was  her  man  tho'  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong." 

26  Now  it  was  not  murder  in  the  second  degree,  and  was  not  murder  in  the  third, 
The  woman  simply  dropped  her  man,  like  a  hunter  drops  a  bird. 

He  was  her  man  but  he  done  her  wrong,  so  wrong. 

27  "Oh  bring  a  thousand  policemen,  bring  'em  around  today, 
Oh  lock  me  in.  that  dungeon,  and  throw  the  keys  away, 

I  shot  my  man,  'cause  he  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 

28  "Yes,  put  me  in  that  dungeon,  oh  put  me  in  that  cell, 

Put  me  where  the  northeast  wind  blows  from  the  southeast  corner  of  hell. 
I  shot  my  man,  'cause  he  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 

29  Frankie  mounted  to  the  scaffold  as  calm  as  a  girl  can  be, 

And  turning  her  eyes  to  heaven,  she  said,  "Good  Lord,  I  am  coming  to  Thee. 
He  was  my  man,  but  he  done  me  wrong,  so  wrong." 


81 


FRANKIE   BLUES 


Not  fant 


Arr.  E.  C. 


«/ 


1  -If  J\J 

Frank     -      ir    WHS     a     #ood    worn  -  an,     .         Kv    -     Vy     ho- dy          knows, 


Gave 


f> 


/ 


f  f=  • 
.U-  L — 


rip 


-  -• r  •- ^-t--S±«:lii^rE^: 


for    -    ty-oiu»  dol  -  lars  to  buy  Al  -    hert         A  suit  of       clothes; 


FRANKIE  ELITES 


slower 


"Yes,  he's        my      man, but  he  done  me       wrong."     .     .     . 


^*  *  I     ^*— "^ 


1  Frankie  was  a  good  woman, 
Everybody  knows, 

Gave  forty-one  dollars  to  buy  Albert 

A  suit  of  clothes: 

"Yes,  he's  my  man,  but  lie  done  me  wrong." 

2  Frankie  went  to  the  corner, 
Took  a  forty-four  gun, 

Shot  her  Albert  a-rooty-ti-toot, 

And  away  he  tried  to  run: 

"He  was  my  man,  but  he  done  me  wrong." 

3  "Roll  me  over  easy, 
Roll  me  over  slow, 

Roll  rue  over  on  my  right  side, 

'Cause  the  bullet  hurt  me  so; 

I  was  your  man,  but  I  done  you  wrong." 

4  Frankie  sit  in  a  parlor, 
Cool  herself  with  a  fan, 

Tell  all  the  other  women  and  girls, 

"Don't  trust  any  doggone  man, 

He'll  do  you  wrong,  he'll  do  you  wrong." 


83 


JOSIE 


The  restless  sons  of  Man  in  tfie  mountains  of  Kentucky  sometimes  descend  to  the  plains  and 
live  in  the  big  cities,  in  the  centers  of  wickedness,  in  the  tents  of  the  ungodly,  where  night  is  turned 
into  day  by  the  bright  lights.  When  they  go  back  to  the  mountains  sometimes  they  have  songs 
their  lips  have  learned  in  strange  places.  Perhaps  one  of  the  children  of  the  mountains  learned  a 
Frankic  song  in  one  of  the  cities  and  brought  it  back  to  the  mountains  where  the  name  of  the  heroine 
was  changed  to  Josie.  Or,  perhaps,  it  was  in  the  mountains  that  the  first  Frankie  song  was  born 
and  the  name  of  the  leading  character  was  Josie  and  it  was  in  the  city  that  her  name  was  changed. 
When  the  song  history  of  America  is  definitively  written,  we  shall  know  about  these  things. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


; 


Jo  -  sic  she's     a    good  girl,       as     cv  -  'ry-bod-y      knows,          She      gave  onehun-dred 


':  I  -3 


r~ 


-T 


•*--}     i-« 


U 


dol  -  lars       for   an       i  -  vo  -  ry     suit      of  clothes;"IIe       is       my          man, 


~m. 


II 


but     he  won't  come        home/* 


\  ^ •*-      -f-_     m      _. 

^--i^t  "-W     *      i 
J£>_.  i_j    _.fi_-     p_ 


JOSIE 

1  Josie  she's  a  good  girl,  as  everybody  knows, 

She  gave  one  hundred  dollars  for  an  ivory  suit  of  clothes; 
"He  is  iny  man,  but  he  won't  come  home/' 

2  She  went  down  the  street  as  far  as  I  could  see, 

And  every  band  that  she  passed  by  played  "Nearer  My  God  to  Thee," 
"Oh,  he's  my  man,  but  he  won't  come  home." 

3  She  went  down  the  street,  a  revolver  in  her  hand, 

Saying,  "Stand  back,  gents  and  ladies;   I'm  searching  for  my  man, 
Oh,  he's  my  man,  but  he  won't  come  home." 

4  She  stepped  into  the  barroom,  and  there  her  husband  stood, 
She  drew  her  revolver  from  her  side  and  shot  him  thru  and  thru; 
"He's  my  man,  but  he  wouldn't  come  home." 

5  She  went  down  to  the  jail-house,  keys  all  in  her  hand, 
Saying,  "Here,  Mr.  Jailer,  lock  me  up,  for  I've  shot  my  man; 
He's  my  man,  but  he  wouldn't  come  home." 

6  One  thing  hurt  Mrs.  Josie,  one  thing  made  her  cry, 

Standing  there  in  the  courthouse  door  when  the  hurst  (hearse)  came  rolling  by; 
""Oh,  he's  my  man,  but  he  wouldn't  come  home." 

7  "  I'm  not  going  to  wear  no  mourning,  not  going  to  wear  no  black, 
But  I'll  go  down  to  the  graveyard  and  bring  my  Iva  back; 

Oh,  he's  my  man,  but  he  done  me  wrong." 

8  She  went  down  to  the  graveyard  and  fell  down  on  her  knees, 
And  prayed  to  the  Lord  in  heaven  to  send  her  heart  some  ease; 
"Oh,  he's  my  man,  but  he  wouldn't  come  home." 

9  Sitting  in  the  parlor  by  an  electric  fan, 

Pleading  with  the  youngest  girl  never  to  marry  a  gambling  man; 
"Hell  be  your  man,  but  he'll  not  conic  home." 


80 


SADIE 

This  is  a  woman's  version  of  the  old  story  of  Frankie  and  her  man.  Six  young  women  from 
six  old  cities  sang  it  at  White  Lake,  Michigan.  They  wrap  Sadie  in  a  "sky-blue  kimono."  They 
have  Sadie  kill  her  man,  he  is  hauled  to  the  graveyard,  and  that's  all.  No  arrest,  no  murder  trial, 
neither  acquittal  nor  execution.  Text  and  tune  here  are  from  Julia  Peterson  of  Ann  Arbor. 


Srnl  -  io  went  in  -  to     the   bar -room,      and  she     ordered  up     a    big  glass     of  beer. 


-F 


She    said/4  Tell  me  the  truth,  Mis  -  ter      Bar    -    ten-der,     has    my  Hen  -  ry  Brown  been 


...  _.._^  .       .  „          .. 

^  _   *_  *«h    .&-•-  41*      *     *      --:>-_  ..  -rr  L<3     -J  /  -z^=r^b^T 


herc?  'Cause  he's  my       man,     .     .    and  he's  do  -  in'  me        wrong,      he  won't  come  home." 


1  Sadie  went  into  the  bar-room,  and  she  ordered  up  a  big  glass  of  beer. 
She  said,  "Tell  mo  the  truth,  Mister  Bartender,  has  my  Henry  Brown  been  here? 
'Cause  he's  my  man,  and  he's  doin'  me  wrong,  he  won't  come  home." 

£  "Well  I  ain't  goin'  to  toll  you  no  secrets,  and  I  ain't  goiii*  to  toll  you  no  lies, 
But  1  saw  Henry  Brown  just  a  moment  ago,  and  I  could  hardly  b'lieve  my  eyes, 
'Cause  he's  your  man,  what's  been  doin'  you  wrong,  he  won't  come  home." 

3  Sadie  drank  up  all  her  beer,  and  she  ordered  up  a  big  glass  of  gin, 

She  said,  "Ain't  it  a  shame.  Mister  Bartender,  that  I've  a-takin'  to  drinkin*  again, 
On  account  of  my  man,  what's  a-doin'  me  wrong,  he  wouldn't  come  home." 

4  Sadie  went  up  a  dark  alloy,  and  she  didn't  go  up  there  for  fun, 
For  under  her  sky-blue  kimono,  she  had  a  great  big  forty-four  gun, 

On  account  of  her  man,  what  was  doin'  her  wrong,  he  wouldn't  come  home. 

5  "Roll  me  over  easy,  now  roll  me  over  slow, 

Oh,  roll  me  over  on  my  right  side  because  my  left  side  hurts  me  so, 
4Cause  Fin  Sadie's  man,  what's  a  done  her  wrong,  1  wouldn't  come  home." 

0  They  hauled  out  the  rubber-tired  carriage,  and  they  hauled  out  the  rubber-tired  hack, 
They  were  haulin*  a  guy  to  the  grave-yard,  and  they  weren't  gonna  haul  him  back, 
He  was  Sadie's  man,  that  had  done  her  wrong,  he  wouldn't  come  home. 


PIONEER  MEMORIES 


HARMONIZATION   HY  PAGE 

THE   LITTLE   OLD   SOD   SHANTY Alfred  G.  Wathdll    ....  HI) 

WHERE  o  WHERE  is  OLD  ELIJAH? Leo  Sincerity 0* 

TURKEY   IN   THE    STRAW Leo  Soicerby 04 

WHO   WILL   SHOE   YOUR   PRETTY    LITTLE   FOOT?   .           .           .          Leo  SoiCCrbi/ 08 

THE    TRUE   LOVER'S    FAREWELL 08 

FAIR   ANNIE    OF    LOCH  YUAN 00 

TEN    THOUSAND    MILES    AWAY 100 

OLD  GRAY  MARE Alfred  0.  Watluill  ....  10* 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  DOOM Jlennj  Louis  Mencken    .        .         .104 

WHAT   WAS   YOUR    NAME   IN   THE   STATES?     ....          Hazel  Ft'Imutl  .  .  .  .100 

SWEET    BETSY    FROM    PIKE 107 

CALIFORNIA Marion  Lyehenhcini       .        .        .  110 

THE    BANKS    OF    SACRAMENTO 114 

MONEY 11* 

THE  MONKEY'S  WEDDING 113 

ROSIE  NELL Alfred  (i.  Wdtlnill  .        .        .        .114 

CHICKEN   REEL 116 

HANGING  OUT  THE  LINEN  CLOTHES Marlon  Lyelienheini        .        .        .  117 

DOWN,  DOWN  DERRY  DOWN Henry  Fruneis  Parks     .        .        .  118 

THE  LANE  COUNTY  BACHELOR 1^0 


87 


HONOUR     TO    PIONEERS     WHO     BROKE     ROD    THAT 
MKN   TO   COME    MUJHT    LIVE. 

Inscription  from  state  capitol  building  at 
L  in  col  n ,  Nebraska 


TO    THE    STARS    BY    HARD    WAYS. 

Motto  adopted  by  the  State  of  Kansas 


IOWA  —  THE  AFFECTIONS  OF  HER  PEOPLE,  LIKE 
THE  RIVERS  OF  HER  BORDERS,  FLOW  ON  TO  AN 
INSEPARABLE  UNION. 

Inscription  from  the  state  capitol 
building  at  Des  Aloincs,  Iowa 


THE   COWARDS    NEVER   STARTED    AND    THE     WEAK 
ONES    DIED    BY    THE    WAY. 

Slot/an  of  the  Society  of  California 


88 


THE   LITTLE   OLD   SOD   SHANTY 


A  little  girl  from  western  Nebraska,  home  again  after  a  trip  to  the  East,  was  asked,  "What  is 
the  East?"  She  answered,  "The  East  is  where  trees  come  between  you  and  the  sky."  Early 
settlers  noticed  log  cabins  were  scarcer  as  timber  land  thinned  out  going  farther  west.  On  the 
windy,  open  prairies  of  the  Great  Plains,  the  best  house  to  be  had  in  short  order  was  of  sod.  A 
cellar  was  dug  first;  long  slices  of  turf  were  piled  around  the  cellar  lines;  wooden  crosspoles  held  the 
sod  roof.  Ceilings  went  high  or  low:  tall  men  put  roofs  farther  from  the  ground  than  short  men 
did.  In  timber  country  farther  east  they  sang  The  Little  Old  Log  Cabin  in  the  Lane;  its  tune  was 
familiar  to  the  lonely  "sodbuster"  who  made  this  song  about  his  dwelling  —  in  a  region  where 
rivers  are  sometimes  a  half  mile  wide  and  a  half  inch  deep. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 
Moderate,  semplice 


seed  -  y     now  while  hold-ing  down  my 
no  -  vel  -  ty      of       liv-ing       in    this 


rS-  -;<?_d 


claim,  And    my 
way,Though  my 


vict-uals     are    not     al-ways    of      the 
bill    of     fare     is       al  -ways  rath  -  er 


best; 
tame, 


m 

And    the  mire  play    shy  -  ly 
But   I'm   hap  -  py      as        a 


round  me  as      I     nes  -  tie    down   to  rest,      In    my   lit  -  tie     old    sod  shan-ty      in     the 

clam  on    the  land  of      Un  -  cle  Sam,     In    my  lit  -  tie      old   sod  shan-ty     on     my 

r"^    «T^-TJ «r*^u-4~ — i rj- 

«!«—  ,  i — ± 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  SOD  SHANTY 


IT" 


REFIAIV 


West. 


claim. 


) 


.«£     ^Vtej 


The     hing  -  es       are       of 


feE^OZJW^ 

.  _E*_' '.__'"_  Jt !rt~"  "  ~r"*^ 


^ 


leath  •  <T      and      the      win -dows  have    no      glass,    While    the    board   roof    lets      the 


howl  -  ing  hliz-zards     in,       ....        And     I     hear    the   him  -  gry     ki  -  yote    as      he 


f 


slinks  up  through  the  grass,Round  my    lit  -  tie     old  sod  shan  -ty    on    my    claim.     .     . 


00 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  SOD  SHANTY 

1  I  am  looking  rather  seedy  now  while  holding  down  my  claim, 
And  my  victuals  are  not  always  of  the  best; 

And  the  mice  play  shyly  round  me  as  I  nestle  down  to  rest, 

In  my  little  old  sod  shanty  in  the  West. 

Yet  I  rather  like  the  novelty  of  living  in  this  way, 

Though  my  bill  of  fare  is  always  rather  tanie, 

But  I'm  happy  as  a  clam  on  the  land  of  Uncle  Sam, 

In  my  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

Refrain: 

The  hinges  are  of  leather  and  the  windows  have  no  glass, 

While  the  board  roof  lets  the  howling  blizzards  in, 

And  I  hear  the  hungry  kiyote  as  he  slinks  up  through  the  grass, 

Round  my  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

2  0  when  I  left  my  eastern  home,  a  bachelor  so  gay, 
To  try  and  win  my  way  to  wealth  and  fame, 

I  little  thought  that  I'd  come  down  to  burning  twisted  hay 

In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

My  clothes  are  plastered  o'er  with  dough,  I'm  looking  like  a  fright, 

And  everything  is  scattered  round  the  room, 

But  I  wouldn't  give  the  freedom  that  I  have  out  in  the  West 

For  the  table  of  the  Eastern  man's  old  home. 

Refrain: 

S  Still  I  wish  that  some  kind-hearted  girl  would  pity  on  me  take, 
And  relieve  me  from  the  mess  that  I  am  in; 
The  angel,  how  I'd  bless  her  if  this  her  home  she'd  make 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 
And  we  would  make  our  fortunes  on  the  prairies  of  the  West, 
Just  as  happy  as  two  lovers  we'd  remain; 
We'd  forget  the  trials  and  troubles  we  endured  at  the  first, 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  our  claim. 
Refrain: 

4  And  if  kindly  fate  should  bless  us  with  now  and  then  an  heir, 
To  cheer  our  hearts  with  honest  pride  of  fame, 
O  then  we'd  !>e  contented  for  the  toil  that  we  had  spent 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  our  claim. 
When  time  enough  had  lapsed  and  all  of  those  little  brats 
To  noble  man-  and  womanhood  had  grown, 
It  wouldn't  seem  half  so  lonely  as  around  us  we  should  look, 
And  see  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  our  claim. 
Refrain: 


01 


WHERE   O    WHERE    IS   OLD   ELIJAH? 


A  widely  known  song  among  pioneers  in  the  middle  west  was  this  one  borrowed,  possibly,  from 
the  negroes.  It  might  be  called  a  white  man's  spiritual.  Its  melody,  its  half-story  elements,  its 
weaving  repetitions,  make  it  a  good  song  for  company  and  party  singing.  And  it  is  one  of  the  best 
I  know  of  for  children  and  grown-ups  to  join  in  on,  to  loosen  up,  and  to  get  at  each  other's  voices. 
This  complete  version  comes  to  us  from  Lloyd  Lewis,  Free  Quaker,  and  former  and  early  resident  of 
•Pendlcton,  Indiana,  a  man  of  sterling  integrity  and  many  devices. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


:       ~  ~:  .  j     ..."-.  ~:'^f=3~"£:-3: 

m 

— 

_J:::__ 

_"'J-._ 

rirj-r 

7 

y/ 

Where 

O 

where 

IS 

old 

E 

-    li    - 

jah? 

He 

went 

up 

in 

a 

fi    - 

ery 

eh  a  - 

riot. 

REFRAIN. 

By 

and 

t>y 

we 

will 

go 

and 

see 

him, 

\ 


-b& 

.-Jbt^._ 


.  _     .     _  „   -  — jt  j)  ----.-  -  -       ;-  - 


*  J  .  J 

f         $~ 

-3..i.I3" 

T.--*         f    : 

J 

-tl'^HT 

>-^- 

Where  O   ^ 

where     is            old 

E   -  li  -  jah?1 

Where  O    where 

is 

old     E   - 

li  -  jah? 

lie   went 

up       in      a      fi  - 

ery    clia  -  riot. 

He    went     up 

in 

:i       fi  -  cry 

cha-riot. 

By    and 

by      we   will  go 

and    see      him, 

By    and     by 

we 

will     go   and 

see   him, 

, 

. 

p^ 

I 

!••• 

!                       . 

H 

j:I*:i":J*:..- 

-—i  -  -]~      j-  n 

-^i-l" 

i":--3^--_ 

J^ 

-.te"i; 

fc^ 

>~teJ  "  '  '• 

,_;i        ,.,- 

•  ;.---:r"~i 

-4---^--H 

1*  --- 

^  -- 

fe-J  
9S»    

-  -)      — 

.:<.  ~-  _.      .  12^  " 

Pdr 

^-1"  —  hx-J" 

."_    I  ~  :       „   .. 

L        ~J 

'Way  o  -  ver  in  the 
'Way  o  -  ver  in  the 
'Way  o  -  ver  in  the 

VU_ I 1        _„ r . 

fe -;•---(-  •-  --J:--- 


'--*-  -*-  -it 

—?.-* 


\-^^3Fm 


Promised  Land. 
Promised  Land. 
Promised  Land. 


WHERE  0  WHERE  IS  OLD  ELIJAH? 

Where  0  where  is  old  Elijah? 

Where  0  where  is  old  Elijah? 

Where  O  where  is  old  Elijah? 

'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 
He  went  up  in  a  fiery  chariot, 
He  went  up  in  a  fiery  chariot, 
He  went  up  in  a  fiery  chariot, 
'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 

Refrain: 

By  and  by  we  will  go  and  see  him, 
By  and  by  we  will  go  and  see  him, 
By  and  by  we  will  go  and  see  him, 
'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 

Where  0  where  are  the  Hebrew  children? 

Where  ()  where  are  the  Hebrew  children? 

Where  0  where  are  the  Hebrew  children? 

'WTay  over  in  the  promised  land. 
They  went  up  in  a  fiery  furnace, 
They  went  up  in  a  fiery  furnace, 
They  went  up  in  a  fiery  furnace, 
'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 

Where  0  where  is  the  bad  boy  Absolom? 

Where  O  where  is  the  bad  boy  Absolom? 

Where  0  where  is  the  bad  boy  Absolom? 

'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 
He  went  up  on  the  spear  of  Joab, 
He  went  up  on  the  spear  of  Joab, 
He  went  up  on  the  spear  of  Joab, 
'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 

Where  0  where  is  poor  old  Daniel? 

Where  0  where  is  poor  old  Daniel? 

Where  ()  where  is  poor  old  Daniel? 

'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 
He  went  up  in  a  den  of  lions, 
He  went  up  in  a  den  of  lions, 
He  went  up  in  a  den  of  lions, 
'Way  over  in  the  promised  land. 


TURKEY  IN  THE  STRAW 

This  is  the  classical  American  rural  tune.  It  goes  back  to  "  Zip  Coon  "  and  early  minstrel  songs. 
It  has  been  sung  at  horses  and  mules  from  a  million  wagons.  It  has  a  thousand  verses,  if  all  were 
gathered.  In  the  solitudes  of  tall  timbers  it  has  been  the  companion  of  berry  pickers  in  summer 
and  squirrel  hunters  in  fall  time.  On  mornings  when  the  frost  was  on  the  pumpkin  and  the  fodder 
in  the  shock,  when  nuts  were  ripe  and  winter  apples  ready  for  picking,  it  echoed  amid  the  horizons 
of  the  Muskingum  river  of  Ohio  and  the  Ozark  foothills  of  Missouri.  Arguments  have  been  pre- 
sented that  the  turkey,  the  Thanksgiving  bird,  is  more  the  Yankee  national  emblem  than  the  eagle. 
Maybe  so.  Anyhow  the  turkey  has  a  song  of  the  people  and  the  eagle  hasn't.  And  as  a  song  it 
smells  of  hay  mows  up  over  barn  dance  floors,  steps  around  like  an  apple-faced  farmhand,  has  the 
whiff  of  a  river  breeze  when  the  catfish  are  biting,  and  rolls  along  like  a  good  wagon  slicked  up  with 
new  axlegrease  on  all  four  wheels.  It  is  as  American  as  Andrew  Jackson,  Johnny  Appleseed,  and 
Corn-on-the-Cob. 

Text  B.  was  printed  by  Delaney  who  tells  me  this  is  the  earliest  stage  version  he  knows  of  and 
it  is  at  least  fifty  years  old.  With  a  little  "puckering  in"  and  doubling  up,  the  lines  can  be  adjusted 
to  the  harmonized  melody.  Text  C.  is  a  1925  ditty  from  the  oil  fields  of  Ohio;  Paul  Schact,  of 
Columbus,  passed  it  along;  like  oil  strikes,  gushers,  wildcats,  doodlebugs,  it  is  a  little  mysterious. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


I 


3 


I     was    a-  gwine    down  the  road,  Tired    team  and    a    hea-  vy    load, 


I 


Crack  rny  whip  and  the  lead  -  er 


;      I    says  day  -  day   to    the    wa  -  gon-tongue. 


lav  -  day 

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Tur-key   in 

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the  straw,      tur-key   in  the 

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TUBXKY  IN  THE  STRAW 


J  J  J  J 


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high  tuck -a -haw,     And    hit   'em     up      a       tune    called  Tor- key    in    the  Straw! 


JzzJzMU- J  J  ^ 


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£.  Went  out   to  milk  and  I    did-  n't  know  now,  I    milked  the  goat  in-  stead  of   the  cow.     A 


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mon  -  key    sit  -  tin'  on    a    pile   of   straw      A  -  wink  -  in*     at       his  moth-  er  -  in  -  law. 


RXFRATH 


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M 


TUBKEY  IN  THE  STRAW 


high    tuck  -  a  -  haw,      And     hit    'era     up     a       tune   called  Tur  -  key    in     the  Straw. 


1  As  I  was  a-gwine  down  the  road, 
Tired  team  and  a  heavy  load, 

Crack  my  whip  and  the  leader  sprung; 

I  says  day-day  to  the  wagon  tongue. 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay, 
Roll  'ern  up  and  twist  'em  up  a  high  tuckahaw, 
And  hit  'em  up  a  tune  called  Turkey  in  the  Straw. 

2  Went  out  to  milk  and  I  didn't  know  how, 
I  milked  the  goat  instead  of  the  cow. 

A  monkey  sittin'  on  a  pile  of  straw 
A-winkin'  at  his  mother-in-law. 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay,  etc. 

3  Met  Mr.  Catfish  comin*  down  stream, 
Says  Mr.  Catfish,  "What  does  you  mean?" 
Caught  Mr.  Catfish  by  the  snout 

And  turned  Mr.  Catfish  wrong  side  out. 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay,  etc. 

4  Came  to  the  river  and  I  couldn't  get  across 
Paid  five  dollars  for  an  old  blind  hoss 
Wouldn't  go  ahead,  nor  he  wouldn't  stand  still 
So  he  went  up  and  down  like  an  old  saw  mill. 

Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay,  etc. 

5  As  I  came  down  the  new  cut  road 
Met  Mr.  Bullfrog,  met  Miss  Toad 
And  every  time  Miss  Toad  would  sing 
Ole  Bullfrog  cut  a  pigeon  wing. 

Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay,  etc. 


96 


TURKEY  IN  THE  STRAW 

601  jumped  in  the  seat,  and  I  gave  a  little  yell, 
The  horses  run  away,  broke  the  wagon  all  to  hell; 
Sugar  in  the  gourd  and  honey  in  the  horn, 
I  never  was  so  happy  since  the  hour  I  was  born, 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  hay,  etc. 

B 

Went  down  to  New  Orleans,  got  on  a  fence,  Tom  Turkey  in  de  buckwheat  straw. 
Dutchman  asked  me  I  talk  French,  dat's  nine  points  ob  de  law; 
Hit  'em  in  de  head  wid  a  great  big  brick,  Tom  Turkey  in  de  buckwheat  straw, 
Didn't  I  make  dat  nigger  look  sick,  dat's  nine  points  ob  de  law. 

Refrain: 

Den  a  turkey  in  a  straw,  den  a  turkey  in  a  straw; 
Roll  a  web  of  straw  'round  to  hide  de  turkey's  paw, 
And  we'll  shake  'em  up  a  tune  called  Turkey  in  a  Straw. 

Tobacco  am  an  Ingin  weed,  Tom  Turkey  in  dc  buckwheat  straw, 

From  de  debil  it  did  seed,  dat's  nine  points  ob  de  law; 

Rots  your  pocket,  scents  your  clothes,  Tom  Turkey  in  a  buckwheat  straw. 

Makes  a  chimbley  of  your  nose,  dat's  nine  points  ob  de  law. 

Refrain: 


Said  the  tooler  to  the  driller,  "Will  you  dance  me  a  jig?" 
"O  yes,  by  golly,  if  I  tear  down  the  rig." 
So  he  took  down  the  wrench  that  the  contractor  stole, 
And  he  danced  a  jig  around  the  ten-inch  hole. 


97 


WHO   WILL  SHOE  YOUR  PRETTY  LITTLE  FOOT? 

One  night  after  I  had  given  my  song  and  guitar  recital  at  Indiana  University,  I  went  with 
Prof.  Frank  C.  Senour  to  his  room  and  we  sang  and  talked  till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He 
had  in  his  heart  and  memory  a  little  piece  that  he  called  " exquisite";  that  is  the  word.  As  a  boy 
growing  up  in  Brown  County,  Indiana,  he  heard  his  mother  sing  it  at  dish  washing  and  sewing  and 
mending,  and  sometimes  for  company.  He  remembered  only  the  verse  given  below  in  text  A. 
R.  W.  Gordon  gave  me  text  B  and  I  went  to  Alexander  Whitelaw's  "Book  of  Scottish  Ballads"  for 
text  C,  where  it  is  titled,  "Fair  Annie  of  Lochyran."  In  another  old  version,  it  is  known  as  "The 
Lass  of  lx>ch  Royal."  A  little  book  could  be  written  around  this  song  and  all  its  ramifications 

in  the  past.  * 

Arr.  L.  S. 


2= 


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O,  who  will  shoe  your  pret-ty   lit -tie  foot,  And  who  will  glove  your  hand, 

n r . 


And 


*^-H:4-"i^"t-'/^ at—  ---- • — - — ~-frp— ife- ar  •*   I  &*  m     *  •    - 


who  will  kiss  your    ru  -  by    lips    When  I've  gone  to  the  for-eign      land?     .     . 


-J-=nr.r  EH: 
•»          «* 


« 


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I 


O,  who  will  shoe  your  pretty  little  foot, 
And  who  will  glove  your  hand, 

And  who  will  kiss  your  ruby  lips 
When  I've  gone  to  the  foreign  land? 

B 
THE  TRUE  LOVER'S  FAREWELL 

"Farewell,  farewell,  my  pretty  maid, 

Fare-thee-well  for  a  while; 
For  I'm  going  away  ten  thousand  miles, 
Ten  thousand  miles  from  here. 

98 


THE  TRUE  LOVER'S  FAREWELL 

2  "Who  will  shoe  your  bonny  feet, 

And  who  will  glove  your  hand? 
Who  will  kiss  your  red,  rosy  lips, 
While  I'm  in  some  foreign  land?*' 

3  "My  father  will  shoe  my  bonny  little  feet, 

My  mother  will  glove  my  hand; 
But  my  red,  rosy  lips  shall  go  wanting, 
Till  you  return  again." 

4  "You  know  a  crow  is  a  coal,  coal  black, 

And  turns  to  a  purple  blue; 
And  if  ever  I  prove  false  to  you, 
I  hope  my  body  may  melt  like  dew. 

5  "I'll  love  you  till  the  seas  run  dry, 

And  rocks  dissolve  by  the  sun; 
I'll  love  you  till  the  day  I  die, 
And  then  you  know  I'm  done." 


C 
FAIR  ANNIE  OF   LOCHYRAN 

1  "0  who  will  shoe  my  fair  foot, 
And  who  will  glove  my  han'? 
And  who  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 
Wi'  a  new-made  London  ban'? 

%  "Or  who  will  kemb  my  yellow  hair 
Wi'  a  new-made  silver  kemb? 
Or  who'll  be  father  to  my  young  bairn, 
Till  love  Gregor  come  hame?" 

8  "Your  father  '11  shoe  your  fair  foot, 
Your  mother  '11  glove  your  hand; 
Your  sister  '11  lace  your  middle  jimp 
Wi'  a  new-made  London  ban'; 

4  "Your  brethern  will  kemb  your  yellow  hair 
Wi'  a  new-made  silver  kemb; 
And  the  King  of  Heaven  will  father  your  bairn 
Till  love  Gregor  come  hame." 


90 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY 


Pour  times  a  year  for  twenty-two  years  William  W.  Delaney  published  at  Park  Row,  New  York, 
his  ten-cent  songbook,  each  one  with  about  170  songs,  words  only.  "On  the  last  page  or  two,"  he 
told  me,  "I  always  put  a  few  old  ones."  A  favorite  of  his,  among  the  old  ones,  is  Ten  Thousand 
Miles  Away.  "It's  a  good  song,  you  can  have  it,"  he  said  as  I  took  down  the  notes.  "Some 
mighty  good  men  have  sung  it.  The  songs  these  days  are  cheap  alongside  what  we  used  to  have. 
You  can't  find  tunes  now  like  you  could  in  the  old  days."  And  he  said,  after  singing,  "It's  one 
people  have  forgotten.  I  don't  know  how  old  it  is.  The  old  men  who  sang  it  for  me  when  I  was 
a  boy  said  it  was  an  old  song  then.  And  they  learned  it  from  old  men  when  they  were  boys." 


Sing     I        for     a    brave   and    a     gal  -  lant  barque,  and   a  stiff   and   a    rat  -  tling 


breeze,       A     bul  -   ly  crew   and    a    cap  -  tain  true,     to    car  -  ry    me    o'er     the 


\-JrvL   -T~  —  T~    *         4    _i  ••    -LL  —  j: 

......  .  -  _.  ,,. 

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M           j—  3               i~                9 

seas;  .          To     car  -  ry     me 

——  xX—W          i  J    .,..-.  .  -  i  —.—..-.  -J    .  .    ...  -~J  —  —  —  ~.~J—  —  .  .  —~ 

o'er    the    seas,     my    boys,     to 

my  true    love    so 

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gay    -    ay    -   ay,     .      Who  went  on       a    trip     in       a    Gov  - 
A   ^                                                                        KKFRAJN 

ern-ment  ship      ten 

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["""tr.      V    "               --..-*--  -^T      u.    r,.           .         T      ,.               .                                          J,                                                                                 „_ 

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1  L_  1  1  

L^C  fa^           0  &  4  —  i  —  gi>-r-  --/SHr 

thous-and  miles     a   -  way!  . 

_l_  1  ^|  £^  1  L^  ,_  J__  , 

TST 

Blow,  ye  winds,  hi      oh!    .        A-  roam-  ing     I     will 

["tor^t2"1"   F^     ^""{t3      f  "  ^"    "( 

*—  f3  —  r  —  f»  —  +-  -d  —  h 

—  1  j—  H  -(— 

go,    .       I'll  stay    no   more  on    Eng-  land's  shore,  so     let     the 

~^  «*    '<L^ 
mus  -  ic       play;  . 

1    .jK"ft^Z  1  3  K  KI  \  \~ 

i_   j    ""~3  J  <^?         ~p~       fS 

f—  hf^  —  f^  

nri™[?       •    I      .4          ^P      ^j          H           ^T 

—  i—  *rf\»-p^.  ^  1  i  i  — 

_L  —  L4::  1  

I'll  start     by    the  morn  -  ing       train     .        to    cross     the    rag  -  ing       main, 

-  At  J-J-  1°  —  T  —  f5^  —  ^>~-  :«—  '  —  ^  —  ^  —  1  —  »  —  -  —  -  —  r  —  ^H 

^?:C^_«L.  4  1  g  —  f 

-t^  i-  ..  -  j  .  &»  j 

•^—•-4.    J    I' 

For  I'm  on      the  road     to    my  own    true  love,    ten  thous-and  miles     a  -  way!    . 

100 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY 

1  Sing  I  for  a  brave  and  a  gallant  barque,  and  a  stiff  and  a  rattling  breeze, 
A  bully  crew,  and  a  Captain,  true,  to  carry  me  o'er  the  seas; 

To  carry  me  o'er  the  seas,  my  boys,  to  my  true  love  so  gay-ay-ay, 
Who  went  on  a  trip  in  a  Government  ship  ten  thousand  miles  away  I 

Refrain: 

Blow,  ye  winds,  hi  oh!  a-roaming  I  will  go, 

I'll  stay  no  more  on  England's  shore,  so  let  the  music  play; 

I'll  start  by  the  morning  train  to  cross  the  raging  main, 

For  I'm  on  the  road  to  my  own  true  love,  ten  thousand  miles  away! 

2  My  true  love  she  was  aandsome,  my  true  love  she  was  young, 

Her  eyes  were  blue  as  the  violet's  hue,  and  silvery  was  the  sound  of  her  tongue; 
And  silvery  was  the  sound  of  her  tongue,  my  boys,  and,  while  I  sing  this  lay-ay-ay, 
She's  a-doing  of  the  grand  in  a  far  off  land,  ten  thousand  miles  away! 
Refrain: 

3  Dark  and  dismal  was  the  day  when  last  I  seen  my  Meg, 

She'd  a  Government  band  around  each  hand,  and  another  one  round  her  leg; 
And  another  one  round  her  leg,  my  boys,  as  the  big  ship  left  the  bay-ay-ay, 
Adieu,  said  she,  remember  me,  ten  thousand  miles  away! 
Refrain: 

4  Oh!  if  I  were  a  sailor  lad,  or  even  a  bombardier, 

I'd  hire  a  boat  and  go  afloat,  and  straight  to  my  true  love  steer; 

And  straight  to  my  true  love  steer,  my  boys,  where  the  dancing  dolphins  play-ay-ay, 

And  the  whales  and  sharks  kick  up  their  larks,  ten  thousand  miles  away! 

Refrain: 

5  The  sun  may  shine  through  a  London  fog,  or  the  river  run  bright  and  clear, 
The  ocean's  brine  be  changed  to  wine,  and  I  forget  my  beer, 

And  I  forget  my  beer,  my  boys,  or  the  landlord's  quarter  day-ay-ay, 
But  never  will  I  part  from  my  own  sweetheart  ten  thousand  miles  away. 
Refrain: 


101 


OLD  GRAY  MARE 


Before  the  horseless  carriage  came,  in  the  years  when  people  went  buggy-riding,  there  were  more 
songs  about  horses  than  now.  Oats  for  Dobbin  was  an  expense  then  as  gas  is  at  the  filling  station 
now.  Fodder  for  the  mare  and  her  foal  cost  money  the  same  as  oil,  water  and  new  wind  shields 
do  today.  The  horse  doctor  earned  his  living  as  the  crack  mechanic  at  the  garage  does,  by  fixing 
the  ailing  parts.  We  remember  in  our  school  readers  the  verse  from  Bayard  Taylor,  voicing  the 
sentiments  of  an  Arab  to  his  steed,  "My  beautiful,  my  beautiful,  thou  standest  so  meekly  by." 
The  following  poem  is  in  a  different  vein  and  mood.  It  is  keyed  rather  to  the  homely  philosophy  of 
an  Iowa  editor  who  was  asked  by  a  Kansas  editor  what  he  wanted  on  his  gravestone.  The  answer 
was  they  could  write,  "He  et  what  was  sot  before  him/'  It  is  not  as  lofty  in  manner  as  the  reply 
of  an  Iowa  farmer  asked  about  his  first  horse,  a  two-year-old  given  him  by  his  father.  "How  was 
she?  Well,  she  was  stylish  but  she  couldn't  stand  grief."  The  melody  here  is  directly  appropriated 
from  the  negro  spiritual,  The  Old  Gray  Mare  Came  Tearin'  Out  the  Wilderness. 

-  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Moderate  con  moto 


— fc         f 

— -J- J-T-" 


Oh,      the       old         gray      mare,       she 

iliiii 


ain't        what      she    used       to      be, 


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aiu't      what    she    used     to     be,          Man  -  y     long      years          a     -    go. 


OLD  GRAY  MARJB 


JJJ  J. 


Man-  y  long  years      a  -go, 


man-  y  long  years      a  -  go. 


The 


^ 


EE3SE3E 


? 


old  gray  mare,  she    ain't  what  she  used  to  be,    Man  -  y     long  years     a  -  go. 


i  Oh,  the  old  gray  mare,  she  ain't  what  she  used  to  be, 
Ain't  what  she  used  to  be,  ain't  what  she  used  to  be. 
The  old  gray  mare  she  ain't  what  she  used  to  be, 

Many  long  years  ago. 

Many  long  years  ago,  many  long  years  ago, 
The  old  gray  mare,  she  ain't  what  she  used  to  be, 

Many  long  years  ago. 

*  The  old  gray  mare  she  kicked  on  the  whiffletree, 
Kicked  on  the  whiffletree,  kicked  on  the  whiffletree. 
The  old  gray  mare  she  kicked  on  the  whiffletree, 

Many  long  years  ago.' 
Many  long  years  ago,  many  long  years  ago, 
The  old  gray  mare,  she  ain't  what  she  used  to  be, 

Many  long  years  ago. 


108 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DOOM 

"Whiskey!"  cried  the  land  rent  agitator  in  a  famine  year  in  Ireland.  "Whiskey  it  is  that 
makes  ye  shoot  at  the  landlords  —  and  miss  *em!"  When  the  Washingtonian  Society  flourished 
in  the  1840's  its  basic  argument  was  that  George  Washington  drank  liquor  but  knew  when  to  stop. 
Later  came  the  saying,  "The  difference  between  a  barber  shop  and  a  saloon  is  that  when  a  man  has 
had  one  shave  he  quits."  School  children  in  midwest  states  in  the  1880's  carried  physiology  books 
with  color  charts  showing  the  progress  of  a  drunkard's  stomach  from  the  pink  of  health  to  the 
raging  crimson  of  delirium  tremens.  The  drink  habit,  as  an  insidious  destroyer,  was  presented  in 
church,  school,  and  town  opera  house,  in  the  play  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room.  The  mood  of  that 
melodrama  is  gathered  in  these  six  verses  of  The  Drunkard's  Doom.  Mary  O.  Eddy  heard  it  from 
old  women  who  sang  it  as  girls  in  Ohio  when  the  Temperance  Movement  was  using  songs  in  its 
crusades.  Henry  L.  Mencken,  a  chamber  music  pianist,  a  composer,  a  contrapuntalist,  a  critic  of 
music  and  the  arts  in  general,  writes  the  harmonization  here. 

Arr.  H.  L.  M. 


At  dawn    of  day     I    saw    a    man  Stand  by       a  grog     sa  -  loon: 


His 


eyes     were  sunk,    his      lips    were  parch 'd,  O     that's     thedrunk-ard's  doom. 


i 


1  At  dawn  of  day  I  saw  a  man 
Stand  by  a  grog  saloon: 
His  eyes  were  sunk,  his  lips  were  parched, 
0  that's  the  drunkard's  doom. 

104 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DOOM 

ft  His  little  son  stood  by  his  side, 
And  to  his  father  said, 
"Father,  mother  lies  sick  at  home 
And  sister  cries  for  bread." 

8  He  rose  and  staggered  to  the  bar 
As  oft  he'd  done  before, 
And  to  the  landlord  smilingly  said, 
"Just  fill  me  one  glass  more." 

4  The  cup  was  filled  at  his  command, 
He  drank  of  the  poisoned  bowl, 
He  drank,  while  wife  and  children  starved, 
And  ruined  his  own  soul. 


5  A  year  had  passed,  I  went  that  way, 
A  hearse  stood  at  the  door; 
I  paused  to  ask,  and  one  replied, 
"The  drunkard  is  no  more." 


6  I  saw  the  hearse  move  slowly  on, 
No  wife  nor  child  was  there; 
They  too  had  flown  to  heaven's  bright  home 
And  left  a  world  of  care. 


7  Now,  all  young  men,  a  warning  take, 
And  shun  the  poisoned  bowl; 
Twill  lead  you  down  to  hell's  dark  gate, 
And  ruin  your  own  soul. 


105 


WHAT  WAS  YOUR  NAME  IN  THE  STATES? 


This  ditty,  of  course,  is  out  of  the  time  when  fugitives  from  the  East  preferred  western  to  eastern 
climate. 

AIT.  II.  F. 


Oh,    what    was    your  name         in    the  States? 


Was      it  Thomp-son       or 


J, 


I _J 

4^ ___"    f— H 


i 
, 

— J 


John  -  son       or     Hates? 


Did   you   mur  -  der     your    wife         And 


in 


fly       for    your     life?       Say,  what    was    your  name      in      the    States? 


»«t- 


T" 


Oh,  what  was  your  name  in  the  States? 

Was  it  Thompson  or  Johnson  or  Bates? 

Did  you  murder  your  wife 

And  fly  for  your  life? 

Say,  what  was  your  name  in  the  States? 


106 


SWEET  BETSY  FROM  PIKE 

It's  four  long  years  since  I  reached  this  land, 
In  search  of  gold  among  the  rocks  and  sand; 
And  yet  I'm  poor  when  the  truth  is  told, 
I'm  a  lousy  miner, 
I'm  a  lousy  miner  in  search  of  shining  gold. 

My  sweetheart  vowed  she'd  wait  for  me 

"Till  I  returned;  but  don't  you  see 

She's  married  now,  sure,  so  I  am  told, 

Left  her  lousy  miner, 

Left  her  lousy  miner,  in  search  of  shining  gold. 

Oh,  land  of  gold,  you  did  nie  deceive, 

And-I  intend  in  thce  my  bones  to  leave; 

So  farewell,  home,  now  iny  friends  grow  cold, 

I'm  a  lousy  miner, 

I'm  a  lousy  miner  in  search  of  shining  gold. 

The  verses  from  a  song  of  California  known  as  The  Lousy  Minor  go  to  the  tune  of  an  older  piece 
The  Dark-Eyed  Sailor.  In  Put's  Original  California  Songster,  we  find  the  comic  and  the  bitter. 
Many  a  line  has  a  sting  and  a  bite  in  it,  a  cry  of  the  frustrated  fool,  sitting  in  the  ashes  of  defeat  and 
humiliation.  There  were  two  ways  to  reach  the  goldfields  from  the  Atlantic  seaboard  or  the  Missis- 
sippi Valley.  One  was  by  ship  around  Cape  Horn,  the  other  across  the  Great  Plains  by]  covered 
wagon.  These  routes  are  told  of  in  verses  from  The  Fools  of  '49  to  the  tune  of  Commence,  You 
Darkies  All;  they  give  facts  in  a  half -comic  manner  that,  as  the  testimony  piles  up,  becomes  sardonic. 

The  poor,  the  old  and  rotten  scows,  were  advertised  to  sail 
From  New  Orleans  with  passengers,  but  they  must  pump  and  bail; 
The  ships  were  crowded  more  than  full,  and  some  hung  on  behind, 
And  others  dived  off  from  the  wharf,  and  swam  till  they  were  blind. 

Refrain: 

Then  they  thought  of  what  they  had  been  told, 

When  they  started  after  gold, 

That  they  never  in  the  world  would  make  a  pile. 

With  rusty  pork  and  stinking  beef,  and  rotten,  wormy  bread, 

And  captains,  too,  that  never  were  up  as  high  as  the  main-mast  head, 

The  steerage  passengers  would  rave  and  swear  that  they'd  paid  their  passage 

And  wanted  something  more  to  eat  besides  Bologna  sausage. 

Then  they  began  to  cross  the  plains  with  oxen,  hollowing  "haw"; 
And  steamers  they  began  to  run  as  far  as  Panama, 
And  there  for  months  the  people  staid  that  started  after  gold, 
And  some  returned  disgusted  with  the  lies  that  had  been  told. 

The  people  died  on  every  route,  they  sicken'd  and  died  like  sheep, 
And  those  at  sea,  before  they  were  dead,  were  launched  into  the  deep; 
And  those  that  died  while  crossing  the  Plains  fared  not  so  well  as  that, 
For  a  hole  was  dug  and  they  thrown  in,  along  the  miserable  Platte. 

107 


BETSY  PROM  PIKE 

The  ups  and  downs  of  covered  wagon  life,  mixed  with  romance  and  ending  in  divorce,  are  told 
in  one  of  the  favorite  songs  of  California  in  the  1850's.  Sweet  Betsy  From  Pike  has  the  stuff  of  a 
realistic  novel.  It  is  droll  and  don't-care,  bleary  and  leering,  as  slippery  and  lackadaisical  as  some 
of  the  comic  characters  of  Shakespeare,  or  as  trifling  as  the  two  murderers  who  are  asked,  "How 
came  you  here?  "  and  who  answer,  "On  our  legs."  It  was  a  good  wagon  song.  Miles  of  monotonous 
scenery  would  pass  to  the  singing  of  it.  Disappointed  prospectors  could  share  their  own  misery 
with  Betsy  and  Ike.  The  last  line  of  each  verse  could  be  repeated,  for  a  change,  with  the  fol  de  rol 
words,  "Tooral  lal  looral  lal,  Tooral  lal  la  loo."  It  was  a  good  wagon  song. 


£^=J=&3 


n 


Oh,  don't    you     re  -  mem  -  her   sweet  Bet  -  sy    from  Pike,     Who  crossed  the    big 


mount -ains     with     her      lov   -  er      Ike,       With    two    yoke     of       cat  *-  tie,       a 


large     yel  -  low    dog,         A 
KBFKAIN 


tall  Shang  -  hai     roost  -  er,     and      one    spot  -  ted 


hog;  Say  -  ing     good  -  bye,    Pike  Conn  -  ty,     Fare  -  well      for        a     while; 

We'll    .       come    back       a  -  gain    When  we've  panned  out     our      pile. 

1  Oh  don't  you  remember  sweet  Betsy  from  Pike, 

Who  crossed  the  big  mountains  with  her  lover  Ike, 
With  two  yoke  of  cattle,  a  large  yellow  dog, 
A  tall  Shanghai  rooster,  and  one  spotted  hog; 

Refrain: 
Saying  goodbye,  Pike  County, 

Farewell  for  a  while; 
We'll  come  back  again 
When  we've  panned  out  our  pile. 

£  One  evening  quite  early,  they  camped  on  the  Platte, 

'Twas  near  by  the  road  on  a  green  shady  flat; 
Where  Betsy,  quite  tired,  laid  down  to  repose, 
While  with  wonder  Ike  gazed  on  his  Pike  County  Rose. 
Refrain: 


108 


SWEET  BETSY  FROM  PIKE 

3  They  soon  reached  the  desert,  where  Betsy  gave  out 

And  down  in  the  sand  she  lay  rolling  about; 
While  Ike  in  great  tears  looked  on  in  surprise, 
Saying,  "Betsy  get  up,  you'll  get  sand  in  your  eyes." 
Refrain: 

4  Sweet  Betsy  got  up  in  a  great  deal  of  pain, 

And  declared  she'd  go  back  to  Pike  County  again. 
Then  Ike  heaved  a  sigh  and  they  fondly  embraced, 
And  she  traveled  along  with  his  arm  'round  her  waist. 
Refrain: 

5  The  Shanghai  ran  off  and  the  cattle  all  died, 

The  last  piece  of  bacon  that  morning  was  fried; 
Poor  Ike  got  discouraged,  and  Betsy  got  mad, 
The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and  looked  wonderfully  sad. 
Refrain: 

6  One  morning  they  climbed  up  a  very  high  hill, 

And  with  wonder  looked  down  into  old  Placerville; 
Ike  shouted  and  said,  as  he  cast  his  eyes  down, 

"Sweet  Betsy,  my  darling,  we've  got  to  Hangtown." 
Refrain: 

7  Long  Ike  and  Sweet  Betsy  attended  a  dance, 

Where  Ike  wore  a  pair  of  his  Pike  County  pants, 
Sweet  Betsy  was  covered  with  ribbons  and  rings, 
Quoth  Ike,  "You're  an  angel,  but  where  are  your  wings?" 
Refrain: 

8  A  miner  said  "Betsy,  will  you  dance  with  me?" 

"I  will,  old  boss,  if  you  don't  make  too  free; 
But  don't  dance  me  hard.     Do  you  want  to  know  why? 
Dog  on  ye,  I'm  chuck  full  of  strong  alkali." 
Refrain: 

9  Long  Ike  and  Sweet  Betsy  got  married,  of  course, 

But  Ike  getting  jealous  obtained  a  divorce; 
And  Betsy,  well  satisfied,  said  with  a  shout, 
"Goodbye,  you  big  lummux,  I'm  glad  you  backed  out," 

Last  Refrain: 

Saying  goodbye,  dear  Isaac, 

Farewell  for  a  while. 
But  come  back  in  time 

To  replenish  my  pile. 

109 


CALIFORNIA 


Shortly  after  the  young  congressman,  Abraham  Lincoln,  came  home  from  Washington  and 
settled  down  again  to  the  practice  of  law  in  Springfield,  Illinois,  there  were  announcements  in  news- 
papers occasionally,  such  as,  "  All  who  are  interested  in  the  California  expedition  will  meet  at  candle- 
light to-night  in  the  court  house."  California  then  was  a  place  to  talk  about,  to  guess  and  wonder 
about.  News  came  from  Slitter's  Creek:  ten  men  shook  pay  dirt  through  hand  screens  and  found 
a  million  dollars  apiece  in  gold  nuggets;  the  Sari  Francisco  city  council  adjourned  without  setting 
a  date  when  it  would  rncct  again,  churches  closed  their  doors,  newspapers  stopped  printing,  ships 
lay  in  harbor  with  no  sailors,  cooks  and  soldiers  ran  away  from  military  forts.  A  free-for-all  rush 
started  to  the  gold  diggings:  a  spade  sold  for  $1,000.00.  It  was  news  that  made  New  York  and 
London  sit  up.  Across  the  Great  Plains  came  wagon  trains;  in  ten  miles  along  the  Matte  River  a 
traveler  counted  459  wagons.  At  the  trail's  end  was  gold  and  California. 

Arr.  M.  L. 


When  formed  our    band,    we  arc    all     well  manned.To     jour  -  ney    a  -  far        to    the 


n4    "j-;       0  --.:*_-.    *     •::*--*.-    ^_; 

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"«--J  —  -*.--*1--- 

—£•  —  •  —  1 

pro-mised  land;  The  gold  -en     ore      is 

rich     in  store  On 

the  banks  of   the 

Sac  -  ra  - 

?NJ     -  -f^N^^    -              |g^**^  "   1       J             "j       "      ""'         ^^ 

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1—  E:  

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^  

rjf-ji-i:1 


"9  '" 


HKKHAIX 


:i4.7T7rrm 


men  -  to    shorc.Thcn   ho,      boys,       ho; 


To     Cal    -  i  -    for  -  nia      go,          There's 


CALIFORNIA 


J  JjJ  J 


plen-ty    of    gold    in    theworldj'm   told,  On  the  banks  of  the  Sac  -  ra  -  men -to    shore. 


1  When  formed  our  band,  we  are  all  well  manned, 
To  journey  afar  to  the  promised  land; 

The  golden  ore  is  rich  in  store 

On  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento  shore. 

Refrain : 

Then  ho,  boys,  ho!  To  California  go, 
There's  plenty  of  gold  in  the  world,  I'm  told, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento  shore. 

2  As  oft  we  roam  o'er  the  dark  sea's  foam, 
We'll  not  forget  kind  friends  at  home, 
But  memory  kind  still  brings  to  mind 
The  love  of  friends  we  left  behind. 

Kef  rain: 

3  We'll  expect  our  share  of  the  coarsest  fare, 
And  sometimes  sleep  in  the  open  air, 

On  the  cold  damp  ground  we'll  all  sleep  sound 
Except  when  the  wolves  go  howling  round. 
Refrain: 

4  As  we  explore  to  the  distant  shore, 
Filling  our  pockets  with  the  shining  ore, 
How  it  will  sound  as  the  shout  goes  round, 
Filling  our  pockets  with  a  dozen  of  pounds. 
Refrain: 

5  The  gold  is  there  almost  anywhere; 
We  dig  it  out  rich  with  an  iron  bar, 
But  where  it  is  thick,  with  spade  or  pick 
We  take  out  chunks  as  big  as  a  brick. 
Refrain: 

111 


THE  BANKS  OF  SACRAMENTO 

Sailing  ships  took  tens  of  thousands  of  gold  seekers  around  Cape  Horn  to  San  Francisco,  later 
taking  thousands  of  the  same  passengers  back.  Many  were  bitter.  A  song  came  on  the  ships. 
Sailors  sang  it.  In  the  goldfields  it  passed  the  time  over  pick  and  sieve  or  frying  pan  or  over  shirt 
and  trousers  having  the  vermin  boiled  out.  The  scramble  for  claims,  belongings,  pay  dirt,  was 
fierce.  What  is  called  "the  mortality  rate9'  ran  high.  They  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  sing  it  away. 


m 


Ho,      boys,       ho!      for      Cal  -   i  -  for-  nia,     O!     There's plen -ty     of    gold,  so 


I've       been        told, 


ra    -   men   -   to. 


Ho,  boys,  ho!  for  California,  O! 
There's  plenty  of  gold,  so  I*ve  been  told, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento. 

Ho,  boys,  ho!  for  California,  O! 

There's  plenty  of  bones,  so  I've  been  told, 

On  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento. 


MONEY 

Black-faced  banjoist.s  on  the  wagons  of  medicine  men  used  to  sing  a  money  song  with  many 
verses.     I  remember  the  following  refrain  as  going  with  each  verse. 


0      mou   -    oy        is        the    meat          in       the        co   -    coa  -  nut, 


O 


mon-ey      is     the   milk      in    the    jug;     When  you've  got    lots    of    mon  -  ey     You 


ver  -  y     fun  -  ny,    You're  hap  -  py      as       a      bug 


O  money  is  the  meat  in  the  cocoanut, 
O  money  is  the  milk  in  the  jug; 
When  you've  got  lots  of  money 
You  feel  very  funny, 
You're  happy  as  a  bug  in  a  rug. 


in 


rug 


THE  MONKEY'S  WEDDING 

In  many  odd  corners  of  America  may  be  heard  improvised  verses  rattled  off  to  this  tune  of 
The  Monkey's  Wedding  with  nonsense  of  a  similar  order,  though  most  often  such  impromptus  are 
too  silly  or  too  irregular  for  use  at  gatherings  of  ordinary  citizens.  Some  old  English  and  Irish 
jigs  have  much  this  same  tune. 


The    mon  -  key        mar]-ried  the     bab-oon's    sis  -  ter,  Gave  her      a    ring      and 


^ F~= 

«T + < 


then   .     he      .  kissed     her;     He     kissed  so    hard      he     raised      a         blis  -  ter, 


£ 


3? 


She       set    up        a       yell.        The  brides  -  maid    stuck      on          some  court -phts  - 


ter,      It       stuck 


fast          it 


could  -  n't     stick      fast    -    er; 


Sure  -  ly    .  'twas     a       .      sad      dis    -  as   -   ter,        But       it     .      soon     got      well. 


The  monkey  married  the  baboon's  sister, 
Gave  her  a  ring  and  then  be  kissed  her; 
He  kissed  so  hard  he  raised  a  blister, 
She  set  up  a  yell. 

The  bridesmaid  stuck  on  some  court-plaster, 
It  stuck  so  fast  it  couldn't  stick  faster; 
Surely  'twas  a  sad  disaster, 
But  it  soon  got  well. 


S  What  do  you  think  they  had  for  supper? 
Chestnuts  raw  and  boiled  and  roasted, 
Apples  sliced  and  onions  toasted, 
Peanuts  not  a  few. 

What  do  you  think  they  had  for  a  fiddle? 
An  old  banjo  with  a  hole  in  the  middle, 
A  tambourine  and  a  worn-out  griddle, 
Hurdy-gurdy  too. 


What  do  you  think  the  bride  was  dressed  in? 

White  gauze  veil  and  a  green  glass  breast-pin, 

Red  kid  shoes  quite  interestin', 

She  was  quite  a  belle. 

The  bridegroom  blazed  with  a  blue  shirt-collar, 

Black  silk  stock  that  cost  a  dollar, 

Large  false  whiskers,  the  fashion  to  follow; 

He  cut  a  monstrous  swell. 

113 


What  do  you  think  were  the  tunes  they  danced 

to? 

What  were  the  figures  they  advanced  to, 
Up  and  down  as  they  chanced  to? 
Tails  they  were  too  long! 
"Duck  in  the  kitchen,"  "Old  Aunt  Sally," 
Plain  cotillion,  "Who  keeps  Tally?" 
Up  and  down  they  charge  and  rally! 
Ended  is  my  song. 


ROSIE  NELL 


In  the  first  Oklahoma  land  rush  in  the  late  'Eighties,  was  a  woman  who  rode  a  wild  horse  and 
staked  out  a  claim  worth  having.  In  the  years  that  came  she  raised  corn,  broom  corn,  alfalfa,  soy 
beans  —  and  three  daughters  who  had  freckle  faces,  hair  of  a  dark  gold  corn  silk,  and  sweet  dis- 
positions. Time  passed.  The  family  moved.  New  York  was  their  home,  the  address  was  on 
Eighty-eighth  Street,  and  the  number  in  the  phone  book.  They  were  now  far  from  Oklahoma. 
Yet  there  came  one  cold  rainy  night  to  their  fireside,  their  steam  radiator,  a  young  man  who  had 
raised  corn,  broom  corn,  alfalfa,  and  soy  beans  in  Kansas,  the  next  state  to  Oklahoma  and  standing 
on  the  same  big  prairie.  They  sang  on  that  cold  rainy  night,  those  people  around  the  steam  radiator. 
And  one  of  the  songs  was  Rosie  Nell.  "It  was  a  comfort  to  us  in  those  days  of  the  first  Oklahoma 
land  rush,"  said  the  woman  who  rode  a  wild  horse  to  stake  out  a  claim. 

Andantlno,  quanl  allegretto  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

-Wi/~ 


/ 


on  each  oth  -  er    when  at  school,  to    pass  the  time    a  -  way.         They  of  -  ten  wished  me 


!aiE^s^E±: 


gteseg 


with  thomjmt  thoy   al-  ways  wished  in  vain;  I'd  rath- er    be   with  Ro  -  sie  Nell,    a- 


ROSIE  NELL 


REFRAIN 


J 


JJ 


J        J      •          *      U.I-^LJ-). 

swing- ing    in     the  lane  A- swing -ing    in     the    lane,    .         a -swing -ing  in     the 


* 


i 


j 


j=£ 


5T 


^T 


g 


F 


^nr^"3 


lane, 


I'd    rath  -  er      be      with   Ro  -   sie,  Nell,     a  -  swing  -  ing      in      the 


I 


.4^ — n- 


j-— =^^^^=E^= 


lane, 


A  -  swing  -  ing      in        the        lane,     .     .        a  -  swing  -  ing       in      the 


D.O. 


lane, 


Fd   rath  -  er     be    with  Ro  -  sie  Nell,      a  -  swing-  ing    in      the    lane. 


ROSIE  NELL 

1  How  oft  I  dream  of  childhood  days,  of  tricks  we  used  to  play 
Upon  each  other  when  at  school,  to  pass  the  time  away. 

They  often  wished  me  with  them,  but  they  always  wished  in  vain; 
I'd  rather  be  with  Rosie  Nell,  a-swinging  in  the  lane. 

Refrain: 

A-swinging  in  the  lane,  a-swinging  in  the  lane, 
I'd  rather  be  witli  Rosie  Nell,  a-swinging  in  the  lane, 
A-swinging  in  the  lane,  a-swinging  in  the  lane, 
I'd  rather  be  with  Rosie  Nell,  a-swinging  in  the  lane. 

2  But  soon  a  cloud  of  sorrow  came;  a  strange  young  man  from  town, 
Was  introduced  to  Rosie  Nell  by  Aunt  Jemima  Brown; 

She  stayed  away  from  school  next  day,  the  truth  to  me  was  plain ; 
She'd  gone  with  that  young  city  chap,  a-swinging  in  the  lane. 
Refrain: 

3  Now  all  young  men  with  tender  hearts,  pray  take  advice  from  me; 
Don't  IK?  so  quick  to  fall  in  love,  with  every  girl  you  see; 

For  if  you  do  you  soon  will  find,  you've  only  loved  in  vain; 
She'll  go  of!  with  some  other  chap,  a-swinging  in  the  lane, 
Refrain: 


CHICKEN   REEL 

Of  all  the  country  fiddlers'  tunes  I  have  heard,  the  old  timer  Chicken  Reel  is  the  favorite  that 
keeps  best.  Other  favorites  hold  their  charm.  Over  the  Sea  is  friendly  and  human.  Hen  Cackle 
is  funny;  The  Old  Town  Pump  and  Speckled  lien,  too.  Also  McLeod's  Reel,  Irish  Washerwoman, 
Turkey  in  the  Straw,  Hell  on  the  Wabash,  and  Sweet  Potatoes  Grow  in  Sandy  Land  have  their 
points.  Yet,  the  trickiest  of  all  is  Chicken  Reel.  Cunning  of  musical  design,  elusive  and  unex- 
pected in  its  transitions,  it  is  like  a  poem  that  parodies  itself,  like  a  cat  that  walks  alone,  like  a  woman 
who  forgets  that  she  has  forgotten,  like  three  thistle  sifters  with  thimbles  sifting  softly  through  three 
sieves.  Its  theme  is  "Never  trouble  trouble  till  trouble  troubles  you."  The  tune  here  was  notated 
by  Harry  Gilbert  from  the  playing  of  Jess  Ricks,  a  Long  Island,  New  York,  fiddler.  Ricks  was 
raised  in  Taylorville,  Illinois,  and  learned  Chicken  Reel  from  Uncle  Jim  Simpson,  a  famous  barn 
dance  fiddler  of  Palmer,  Illinois. 


VIOLIN 


__Jf==>^_ 


g>  ••  I  -I — lif. 

tsrf 


110 


HANGING  OUT  THE  LINEN  CLOTHES 


From  break  of  day  till  set  of  sun,  woman's  work  is  never  done.  In  those  days  there  was  linen. 
And  woman  took  thought  about  her  clothes.  Six  days  she  toiled  and  smoothed  and  fashioned  her 
linen  garb  and  vestment,  and  all  the  time  she  hoped  to  look  good  and  seem  fair  and  acceptable  in 
the  eyes  of  her  "darling"  who,  the  song  says,  saw  her  at  work.  He  regarded  her  all  the  more  highly 
because  she  was  a  working  girl  fixing  her  own  clothes.  Grandmothers  of  the  present  generation  of 
Calif  ornians  sang  this  over  wash-tubs  and  ironing  boards,  over  the  needles  as  they  stitched  and 
hemmed.  Thus  we  have  it  from  Pauline  Jacobson  and  friends  in  San  Francisco. 

Arr.  M.  L. 


Twas    on       a     Mon-day     morn -ing,    the     first     I      saw    my      dar  -  ling      A 

::P— :=— : r 


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hang -ing     out      the       lin    -en    clothes,    a -hang- ing     out      the    lin  -   en    clothes. 


~~~~~  ~) -     .'."J  T --,jr ......  ".']  "   "^"i    — "j— -•-    ^*"      ^        • 


-A 


^zrzzziCT-izi: 


1  'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling 
A-hanging  out  the  linen  clothes,  a-hanging  out  the  linen  clothes. 

2  Twas  on  a  Tuesday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling 
A-taking  in  the  linen  clothes,  a-taking  in  the  linen  clothes. 

3  'Twas  on  a  Wednesday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling 
A-ironing  of  the  linen  clothes,  a-ironing  of  the  linen  clothes. 

4  Twas  on  a  Thursday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling 
A-mending  of  the  linen  clothes,  a- mending  of  the  linen  clothes. 

5  Twas  on  a  Friday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling 
A-folding  of  the  linen  clothes,  a-folding  of  the  linen  clothes. 

6  Twas  on  a  Sunday  morning,  the  first  I  saw  my  darling, 
A-wearing  of  the  linen  clothes,  a-wearing  of  the  linen  clothes. 

117 


DOWN,   DOWN  DERRY  DOWN 

When  children  in  the  old  days  asked  for  a  story  or  a  song,  the  older  folks  sometimes  gave  both 
in  a  ballad  such  as  this,  which  seems  to  have  been  known  in  Hartfordshire,  England,  in  Massachu- 
setts and  Virginia,  before  it  traveled  to  Illinois  and  the  midwest.    There  were  children  heard  a 
father  or  uncle,  a  mother  or  aunt,  sing  it  hundreds  of  times.     "We'll  go  over  to  Aunt  Mehitable  and 
ask  her  to  sing  'Down,  Down  Derry  Down/"    Eyes  were  shiny  with  fascination  over  the  boy 
hero  selling  the  cow,  matching  his  wits  against  the  robber,  and  bringing  home  a  horse,  bags  of  gold, 
and  "bright  pistols."    The  line  "Down,  down  deny  down,"  was  useful;   the  singer  while  giving 
that  line  could  refresh  his  recollection  about  the  next  verse;  in  the  same  moment  the  children  could 
be  guessing  about  what  would  happen  next;  they  enjoy  such  guessing  as  they  also  enjoy  wondering 
how  many  more  verses  there  can  be;  and  naturally,  those  well  acquainted  with  a  long  ballad  watch 
and  wait  for  their  favorite  verses.     Text  and  tune  here  are  from  Margery  K.  Forsythe  of  Chicago, 
who  tells  us,  "  Down,  Down  Derry  Down  was  sung  in  our  family  before  the  Revolution.     My  mother 
(1800)  heard  her  grandmother  (1793)  sing  it  and  she  in  turn  remembered  it  farther  back.    The  first 
two  lines  of  the  third  verse  were  lost  and  these  are  impromptu/' 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


£r— -  r— — ~T      n    '  "a — ft     _  1 

c- 


Oh!    La -dies  and  gen  -  tie  -men, please   to  draw  near;    I'll    sing    of     a   man  who  lived  in 


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Hard  -  ford-  shire.       A     fine  Hart  -  ford-shire    boy_       he       had      for    his    man       to 

.!._. 


ft       <> -* 1-  J f »— T--V  Jt^      J  -ft 

E^T^ZEE4rz-_r:£|^   -;--    -.  ^  _::-j;:==E^^Ug^=^ 

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do          his     busi  -  ness,   his     name  was  called  John.   Down,  Down  Der  -  ry         Down. 


DOWN,  DOWN  DERHY  DOWN 

1  Oh!  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  please  to  draw  near;  I'll  sing  of  a  man  who  lived  in  Hertfordshire. 
A  fine  Hartf ordshire  boy  he  had  for  his  man  to  do  his  business,  his  name  was  called  John. 
Down,  Down  Deny  Down  (repeat  this  line  after  each  verse). 

£  Bright  early  one  morning  he  to  him  did  come,  saying,  "John,  take  my  cow  to  the  fair  in  the  town. 
Oh,  this  very  day  take  my  cow  to  the  fair,  for  she's  in  good  order  and  her  I  can  spare.0 

8  So  John  took  the  cow  and  rode  to  the  fair;   "I'll  make  a  good  bargain/'  he  then  did  declare. 
And  on  the  way  there  he  met  with  a  man  and  sold  him  the  cow  for  six  pound  ten. 

4  The  man  had  paid  the  boy  down  all  the  chink,  when  they  went  into  an  ale-house  to  drink, 
And  unto  the  landlady  then  he  did  say,  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do  with  this  money  I  pray?'* 

5  "Sew  it  into  your  coat  lining,"  then  she  did  say,  "Lest  you  should  be  robbed  upon  the  highway.'* 
There  sat  a  highwayman  a-drinking  his  wine;  he  said  to  himself,  "That  money  is  mine." 

6  The  boy  took  his  leave  and  away  he  did  go,  the  highwayman  followed  soon  after  also; 

He  soon  overtook  him  upon  the  highway,  "You're  well  overtaken,  young  lad,"  he  did  say. 

7  "Oh,  jump  up  behind  me,"  the  highwayman  said;  "How  far  arc  you  going?"  replied  the  young  lad. 
"About  four  miles  further  for  all  that  I  know,"  so  he  jumped  up  behind  and  away  they  did  go. 

8  They  rode  until  they  came  to  a  dark  lane;  the  highwayman  said,  "  I  must  tell  you  now  plain, 
Deliver  your  money  without  any  strife,  or  I  will  assuredly  take  your  sweet  life." 

9  The  boy,  seeing  there  was  no  chance  for  dispute,  be  jumped  from  the  horse  and  the  money  pulled 

out. 
And  from  his  coat-lining  the  money  pulled  out~and  in  the  long  grass  he  strewed  it  about. 

10  The  highwayman  immediately  jumped  from  his  horse,  but  little  he  judged  it  was  for  his  loss* 
For  while  he  was  putting  it  into  his  purse,  the  boy  took  his  leave  and  rode  off  with  the  horse. 

11  The  highwayman  hollooed  and  bade  him  to  stay,fthe  boy  never  minded  but  still  rode  away, 
And  unto  his  master's  house  he  did  bring  horse,  saddle  and  bridle  and  many  fine  thing. 

12  On  searching  the  saddle-bags,  as  we  are  told,  there  were  ten  thousand  pounds  in  silver  and  gold, 
Beside  two  bright  pistols  —  the  boy  said,  "I  trow,  I  think,  my  dear  master,  I've  sold  well  your 

cow!" 

18  His  master  smiled  when  him  he  had  told,  saying,  "As  for  a  boy  you've  been  very  bold, 
As  for  the  highwayman,  he's  lost  all  his  store,  let  him  go  a-robbing  until  he  gets  more." 


GOOD 


119 


THE  LANE  COUNTY  BACHELOR 


What  is  a  pioneer?  An  American  poet  answered,  "A  pioneer  is  a  beginner."  It  was  a  child- 
like answer.  The  pioneers  in  any  country  are  those  who  make  its  beginnings.  They  begin  the 
trails  that  later  become  roads.  They  stake  out  land  claims,  put  in  crops  and  start  farming.  An 
inscription  chiseled  on  the  state  capitol  building  of  Nebraska  reads,  "Honour  to  pioneers  who  broke 
sod  that  men  to  come  might  live."  They  were  strugglers,  those  who  went  out  on  the  Great  Plains 
to  make  homes.  They  took  weeks  for  the  wagon  trip  west  as  "movers."  Or  they  rode  on  "Home- 
seekers'  Excursion  Trains,"  eating  from  lunch  baskets,  sleeping  on  the  seats  of  railroad  cars  two, 
three,  four  nights.  Once  located  on  the  quarter-section  claim,  which  would  be  their  own  land  and 
home  if  they  stayed  a  few  years  and  farmed  it,  there  was  strife  and  struggle.  To  get  food  and  clothes, 
to  keep  a  shelter  going  that  would  shut  out  rain  and  snow,  to  outwit  the  grasshoppers  that  came  to 
eat  crops,  to  live  through  bad  cooking,  blizzards  and  vermin,  was  a  steady  round  of  strife  and 
struggle.  "There's  nothing  will  make  a  man  hard  and  profane  like  starving  to  death  on  a  govern- 
ment claim,"  we  are  told  in  this  song.  They  had  a  saying,  "The  worse  things  are  the  better  they 
are."  Sometimes  the  battle  wore  them  down;  it  was  too  much.  With  "nothing  to  lose  and  noth- 
ing to  gain,"  they  quit  as  this  bachelor,  Frank  Bolar,  did.  "They  moved  to  new  parts,"  was  com- 
mon talk  as  to  neighbors.  Or,  "they  vamoosed,  skedaddled."  The  text  here  is  from  Edwin  Ford 
Pi|>er,  whose  poems  of  "barbed  wire"  cover  that  Iowa  and  Nebraska  territory  where  cattle  used  to 
have  free  range.  There  were  no  fences;  then  came  bartied  wire.  "My  people  always  sang  Lane 
County  Bachelor  to  the  Irish  Washerwoman,"  says  Piper.  It  is  a  document  in  jig  time. 


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But     hur  -  rah        for 


Coun  -  ty,       the       land       of        the        free,      The 


home    of     the  grass- hop  -  per,  bed-bug,  and     flea,     I'll    sing  loud  her  prais-es     and 

^M^4^Ei^Pi 


boast    of      her       fame  While  starv  -  ing      to    death    on      my    gov  -  em  -  ment  claim* 

120 


THE  LANE  COUNTY  BACHELOR 

1  My  name  is  Frank  Bolar,  'nole  bachelor  I  am, 
I'm  keepin'  ole  bach  on  an  elegant  plan. 
You'll  find  me  out  West  in  the  County  of  Lane 
Starving  to  death  on  a  government  claim; 

My  house  it  is  built  of  the  national  soil, 
The  walls  are  erected  according  to  Hoyle, 
The  roof  has  no  pitch  but  is  level  and  plain 
And  I  always  get  wet  when  it  happens  to  rain. 

Refrain: 

But  hurrah  for  Lane  County,  the  land  of  the  free, 
The  home  of  the  grasshopper,  bedbug,  and  flea, 
1*11  sing  loud  her  praises  and  boast  of  her  fame 
While  starving  to  death  on  my  government  claim. 

2  My  clothes  they  are  ragged,  my  language  is  rough, 
My  head  is  case-hardened,  both  solid  and  tough; 
The  dough  it  is  scattered  all  over  the  room 

And  the  floor  would  get  scared  at  the  sight  of  a  broom; 
My  dishes  are  dirty  and  some  in  the  bed 
Covered  with  sorghum  and  government  bread; 
But  I  have  a  good  time,  and  live  at  my  ease 
On  common  sop-sorghum,  old  bacon  and  grease. 

Refrain: 

But  hurrah  for  Lane  County,  the  land  of  the  West, 
Where  the  farmers  and  laborers  are  always  at  rest, 
Where  you've  nothing  to  do  but  sweetly  remain, 
And  starve  like  a  man  on  your  government  claim. 

3  How  happy  am  I  when  I  crawl  into  bed, 
And  a  rattlesnake  rattles  his  tail  at  my  head, 
And  the  gay  little  centipede,  void  of  all  fear 
Crawls  over  my  pillow  and  into  my  ear, 

And  the  nice  little  bedbug  so  cheerful  and  bright, 
Keeps  me  a-scratching  full  half  of  the  night, 
And  the  gay  little  flea  with  toes  sharp  as  a  tack 
Plays  "Why  don't  you  catch  me?"  all  over  my  back. 

Refrain: 

But  hurrah  for  Lane  County,  where  blizzards  arise, 

Where  the  winds  never  cease  and  the  flea  never  dies, 

Where  the  sun  is  so  hot  if  in  it  you  remain 

Twill  burn  you  quite  black  on  your  government  claim. 


121 


THE  LANE  COUNTY  BACHELOR 

4  How  happy  am  I  on  my  government  claim, 
Where  I've  nothing  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain, 
Nothing  to  eat  and  nothing  to  wear, 
Nothing  from  nothing  is  honest  and  square. 
But  here  I  am  stuck,  and  here  I  must  stay, 
My  money's  all  gone  and  I  can't  get  away; 
There's  nothing  will  make  a  man  hard  and  profane 
Like  starving  to  death  on  a  government  claim. 

Refrain: 

Then  come  to  Lane  County,  there's  room  for  you  all, 
Where  the  winds  never  cease  and  the  rains  never  fall, 
Come  join  in  the  chorus  and  boast  of  her  fame, 
While  starving  to  death  on  your  government  claim. 

6  Now  don't  get  discouraged,  ye  poor  hungry  men, 
Wo 're  all  here  as  free  as  a  pig  in  a  pen; 
Just  stick  to  your  homestead  and  battle  your  fleas, 
And  pray  to  your  Maker  to  send  you  a  breeze. 
Now  a  word  to  claim-holders  who  are  bound  for  to  stay: 
You  may  chew  your  hard-tack  till  you're  toothless  and  gray, 
But  an  for  me,  I'll  no  longer  remain 
And  starve  like  a  dog  on  my  government  claim. 

Refrain: 

Farewell  to  Lane  County,  farewell  to  the  West, 
I'll  travel  back  East  to  the  girl  I  love  best; 
I'll  stop  in  Missouri  and  get  me  a  wife, 
And  live  on  corn  dodgers  the  rest  of  my  life. 


ft. 


iee 


KENTUCKY  BLAZING  STAR 


HARMONIZATION  BT 


PAGE 


BOUBWOOD  MOUNTAIN Alfred  G.  Waihall  ....  125 

THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT Alfred  G.  Waihall  ....  126 

HELLO,  GIRLS Alfred  G.  Waihall  ....  128 

KANSAS   BOYS 129 

RED  RIVER  VALLEY Henry  Francis  Parks     .        .        .  130 

LIZA  JANE Alfred  G.  Wailiall  .        .        .        .132 

MOUNTAIN   TOP 133 

NEGRO  REEL Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  134 

ONE  MORNING  IN  MAY Alfred  G.  Waihall  ....  136 

THE  TROUBLED   SOLDIER 137 

POST-RAIL  SONG 188 

HAMMER  MAN Alfred  G.  Waihall  ....  139 

LOVE  HOMEBODY,  YES  i  DO Alfred  G.  Wathott  ....  140 

AIN'T  GONNA  RAIN 141 

KENTUCKY  MOONSHINER Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  142 

MR.  FROG    WENT   A-COURT1NG 143 

KIND  MISS Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  144 

GOIN*  DOWN   TO   TOWN 145 

THE  SHIP  THAT  NEVER  RETURNED Henry  Francis  Parka     .        .        .  146 

DOWN  IN  THE  VALLEY Alfred  G.  Watftall  ....  148 

I    DREAMED    LAST   NIGHT   OF   MY    TRUE    LOVE         .           .           .          Alfred  G.  Wathall    ....  149 

DRIVIN'  STEEL Alfred  G.  Watliall  ....  150 


its 


When  at  the  University  of  Kentucky  with  my  talk  and  recital,  I  was  told  of  Gilbert  Reynolds 
Combs,  minister  of  the  First  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  of  Lexington.  He  came  from  the  moun- 
tain people  and  believes  in  them  as  having  characters  of  tragedy  and  comedy,  as  having  tempera- 
merit,  speech,  song  and  original  minds.  His  talk  about  the  mountain  people  and  his  singing  of 
their  ballads  and  ditties  is  quiet  and  convincing.  Born  "on  the  waters  of  Cow  Creek,"  he  saw 
life  amid  the  log  cabins  on  the  ridges  of  Pine  Mountain  and  the  streams  named  Troublesome,  Cut- 
shin,  Hell-fer-Sartain  and  Kingdom  Come.  His  forefathers  for  three  generations  were  natives  of 
"  Bloody  Breathitt "  county,  tracing  back  to  Scotch-Irish  settlers  in  Virginia  before  the  Revolution. 
When  Combs  came  down  from  the  mountains  in  his  sixteenth  year,  he  was  to  see  for  the  first  time 
a  railroad  train,  a  telephone,  typewriter,  fountain  pen,  bath  tub,  barber  chair,  and  other  items 
of  onrushing  civilization.  He  worked  his  way  through  Berea  College,  was  the  valedictorian  at 
Kentucky  Wesleyan,  took  post-graduate  studies,  won  an  oratory  medal  at  Vanderbilt  University, 
at  twenty-seven  was  ordained  a  minister  and  in  a  few  years  became  one  of  the  leaders,  at  thirty- 
six  was  the  pastor  of  what  is  regarded  as  the  central  and  leading  church  of  his  Conference.  In  a 
corner  of  his  church  study  Mr.  Combs  has  a  collection  of  more  than  300  mountaineer  songs.  He 
placed  at  our  disposal  a  number  of  them  appearing  in  the  section  called  Kentucky  Blazing  Star> 
which  is  the  name  of  a  "kiverlid"  design  that  originated  in  some  cabin  alongside  a  Troublesome 
or  Kingdom  Corne  Creek. 


1*4 


SOURWOOD  MOUNTAIN 

This  tune  and  text  of  Sourwood  Mountain,  which  has  so  many  versions,  is  another  from  the 
collection  of  Gilbert  R.  Combs  of  Lexington,  Kentucky.  It  is  as  much  a  dance  tune  as  a  song,  and 
is  close  to  the  style  of  the  yodel. 

Art.  A.  G.  W. 


Chickens    a  -  crow-  in9  on  Sour-wood  Mountain, Ho  -  dee  -  ing-dong  -  doo-  die    al  -  lay  day, 


-K— 


•        • 


\    ^  .__  L .  i 


So     man-y  pret-ty  girls         I    can't  count 'em,     Ho -dee -ing-dong-doo-dle    al-lay  day. 


1  Chickens  a-crowin'  on  Sourwood  Mountain, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 
So  many  pretty  girls  I  can't  count  'em, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 

fc  My  true  love,  she's  a  blue-eyed  dandy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 
A  kiss  from  her  is  sweeter  than  candy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 

3  My^  true  love  lives  over  the  river, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 
A  hop  and  a  skip  and  I'll  be  with  her, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 


4  My  true  love  is  a  blue-eyed  daisy, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 
If  she  don't  marry  me  I'll  go  crazy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 

5  Back  my  jenny  up  the  Sourwood  Mountain, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 

So  many  pretty  girls  I  can't  count  'em, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 

6  My  true  love  is  a  sun-burnt  daisy, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day, 
She  won't  work  and  I'm  too  lazy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle  allay  day. 


THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT 


Blendings  from  five  or  six  old  ballads  are  in  this  song  of  parting  lovers.  "Her  lips  was  like 
some  musical  instrument,"  and  other  lines,  are  extraordinary.  The  pangs  of  separation  find  voice 
in  an  upward  sliding  wail.  It  is  communicated  by  Neeta  Marquis  of  Los  Angeles,  who  says  it 
is  too  finely  sweet  a  .song  to  be  among  the  lost  and  forgotten  things  of  melodic  art. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Andaiitlno 


My    dear  -  est    dear,        the     time  draws  near  When  you 


and       I     must 


part;        But  lit -tie  do  you  know      the  grief    or       woe    Of   my  poor  troub-lcd     heart. 

4_ 


Oh     hush,  my     love,         you  will  break  my    heart,  Nor      let          me    hear  you 


THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT 


m 


pocorit. 


^ 


/ 


cry;     For  the  best  of   friends  will  have  to        part,      And  so  must  you    and         I. 


1  My  dearest  dear,  the  time  draws  near 
When  you  and  I  must  part ; 

But  little  do  you  know  the  grief  or  woe 
Of  my  poor  troubled  heart, 

Refrain: 

Oh  hush,  my  love,  you  will  break  my  heart, 
Nor  let  me  hear  you  cry; 
For  the  best  of  friends  will  have  to  part, 
And  so  must  you  and  I. 

2  As  I  walked  out  one  clear  summer  night, 
A-drinking  of  sweet  wine, 

It  was  then  I  saw  that  pretty  little  girl 
That  stole  this  heart  of  mine. 
Refrain: 

3  Her  cheeks  was  like  some  pink  or  rose 
That  blooms  in  the  month  of  June, 

Her  lips  was  like  some  musical  instrument, 

That  sung  this  doleful  tune. 

Refrain: 


4  Ah,  who  will  shoe  your  feet,  my  love, 
And  who  will  glove  your  hands, 
And  who  will  kiss  your  red,  rosy  lips 
When  I  am  gone  to  the  foreign  land? 
Refrain: 

5  My  father,  he  will  shoe  my  feet, 
My  mother  will  glove  my  hands, 
And  you  may  kiss  my  rod,  rosy  lips, 
When  you  come  from  the  foreign  land. 
Refrain: 

6  You  are  like  unto  some  turtle  dove, 
That  flies  from  tree  to  tree, 
A-mourning  for  its  own  true  love 
Just  as  I  mourn  for  thcc. 
Refrain; 

1  You  are  like  unto  some  sailing  ship 
That  sails  the  raging  main, 
If  I  prove  false  to  you,  my  love, 
The  raging  seas  will  burn. 
Refrain: 


B 


1  I  wish  your  breast  was  made  of  glass, 

All  in  it  I  might  behold; 
Your  name  in  secret  I  would  write 
In  letters  of  bright  gold* 
Refrain. 


Your  name  in  secret  I  would  write, 
Pray  believe  in  what  I  say; 

You  are  the  man  that  I  love  best 
Unto  my  dying  day. 
Refrain. 


HELLO,  GIRLS 

Girls  who  are  thinking  about  getting  married  find  advice  here.  The  third  verse  carries  a  laugh, 
with  a  slight  mourning  border  of  sober  second  thought.  Movers  from  Kentucky,  probably,  took 
the  tune  to  Kansas,  and  gave  it  new  verses  as  in  text  B,  the  song  of  Kansas  Boys.  "Puncheon 
floor"  and  "milk  in  the  gourd"  are  clearly  Kentucky  inventions  or  importations.  Planting  corn 
in  February  "with  a  Texas  pony  and  a  grasshopper  plow,"  however,  is  a  farming  trick  the  Ken- 
tuckians  first  heard  of  after  they  left  "the  Gascony  of  America"  and  took  up  claims  in  the  Sunflower 
state.  The  verses  traveled  up  into  Nebraska  districts  where  they  pitch  horseshoes  and  hold  cham- 
pionship corn-husking  contests,  for  Edwin  Ford  Piper,  who  lived  on  a  farm  near  Auburn,  wrote  of 
Kansas  Boys,  "This  ballad  I  found  in  my  sister's  note  book.  The  older  brothers  and  sisters  used 

to  sing  it." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Hcl-lo  girls,     lis-ten  to  my  voice,    Don't  you  nev-cr  mar -ry  no  good-for-nothing  boys. 


$*_ +z-_  fa. f» 

S/fcTh-  --   /l.        I>   :" "-::-:.    K::.zr-[ 


poco  ril. 


If    you    do  your  doom  shall    be 


Hoe-cake,  ho-  min  -  y    and  sass  -  a  -  f ras    tea. 


1  Hello  girls,  listen  to  my  voice, 
Don't  you  never  marry  no  good-for-nothing  boys. 
If  you  do  your  doom  shall  be 
Hoe-cake,  hominy,  and  sassafras  tea. 

£  Young  boys  walking  down  the  street, 
Young  girls  think  they  look  mighty  sweet. 
Hands  in  their  pockets  not  a  dime  can  they  find, 
Oh,  how  tickled,  poor  girls  mine. 

3  When  a  young  man  falls  in  love, 
First  it's  honey  and  then  turtle  dove. 
After  he's  married  no  such  thing, 

"Get  up  and  get  my  breakfast,  you  good-for-nothing  thing!9 

128 


B 
KANSAS  BOYS 

1  Come,  all  young  girls,  pay  attention  to  my  noise, 
Don't  fall  in  love  with  the  Kansas  boys, 

For  if  you  do  your  portion  it  will  be, 
Johnny  cake  and  antelope  is  all  you'll  see. 

2  They'll  take  you  out  on  the  jet  black  hill, 
Take  you  there  so  much  against  your  will, 
Leave  you  there  to  perish  on  the  plains, 
For  that  is  the  way  with  the  Kansas  range.' 

8  Some  live  in  a  cabin  with  a  huge  log  wall, 
Nary  a  window  in  it  at  all, 
Sand  stone  chimney  and  a  puncheon  floor, 
Clapboard  roof  and  a  button  door. 

4  When  they  get  hungry  and  go  to  make  bread, 
They  kindle  a  fire  as  high  as  your  head, 
Rake  around  the  ashes  and  in  they  throw, 
The  name  they  give  it  is  "doughboys'  dough/' 

5  When  they  go  to  milk  they  milk  in  a  gourd, 
Heave  it  in  the  corner  and  cover  with  a  board, 
Some  get  plenty  and  some  get  none, 

That  is  the  way  with  the  Kansas  run. 

6  When  they  go  to  meeting  the  clothes  that  they  wear 
Is  an  old  brown  coat  all  picked  and  bare, 

An  old  white  hat  more  rim  than  crown, 

A  pair  of  cotton  socks  they  wore  the  week  around. 

7  WTien  they  go  to  farming  you  needn't  be  alarmed, 
.  In  February  they  plant  their  corn, 

The  way  they  tend  it  I'll  tell  you  now, 
With  a  Texas  pony  and  a  grasshopper  plow. 

8  When  they  go  a-fishing  they  take  along  a  worm, 
Put  it  on  the  hook  just  to  see  it  squirm, 

The  first  thing  they  say  when  they  get  a  bite 
Is  "I  caught  a  fish  as  big  as  Johnny  White." 

9  When  they  go  courting  they  take  along  a  chair, 

The  first  thing  they  say  is,  "Has  your  daddy  killed  a  bear,'* 
The  second  thing  they  say  when  they  sit  down 
Is  "Madam,  your  Johnny  cake  is  baking  brown." 


129 


RED    RIVER  VALLEY 


The  popular  song  In  the  Bright  Mohawk  Valley  went  through  changes  in  the  seaboard  and 
mountain  states  of  the  South.  It  became  The  Red  River  Valley;  it  went  west  and  became  a  "cow- 
boy love  song,*'  the  end  line  speaking  of  "the  cowboy  that's  waiting  for  you"  or  "the  half  breed 
that's  waiting  for  you."  The  version  here  is  from  Gilbert  R.  Combs  as  he  heard  it  on  Pine  Mountain. 
Three  final  stanzas  arc  added  from  the  R.  W.  Gordon  collection.  I  have  heard  it  sung  as  if  bells 

might  be  calling  across  a  mist  in  a  gloaming. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


From  this     val    -    ley    they    say         you    are       go   -    ing,  . 
Corne  and      sit         by      my    side  if     you     love      me,   . 


We     will 
Do     not 


Tj-rt  ~~  * 


g_?_ 


_.  j_ 


~.-E»- 


'& 


miss    your  bright  eyes   a  rid  sweet  smile, 
has   -    ten     to      bid       me     a  -  dieu, 


For  they  say      you  are  tak     -     in#  the 
But   re-  mem  -  her  the  Red          Riv-er 


sun  -  shine 
Val  -  ley 

l —  IS j_. 


That        bright  -  ens   our    path  -  way     a    -    while.     .    .     . 
And    the     girl        that  has   loved    you     so       true.       . L    . 

J  4— 


n    <» 
;i|^fe| 


BED  RIVER  VALLEY 


1  From  this  valley  they  say  you  are  going, 
We  will  miss  your  bright  eyes  and  sweet  smile, 
For  they  say  you  are  taking  the  sunshine 
That  brightens  our  pathway  awhile. 

Refrain: 

Come  and  sit  by  my  side  if  you  love  me, 
Do  not  hasten  to  bid  me  adieu, 
But  remember  the  Red  River  Valley 
And  the  girl  that  has  loved  you  so  true. 

fc  For  a  long  time  I  have  been  waiting 

For  those  dear  words  you  never  would  say, 
But  at  last  all  my  fond  hopes  have  vanished, 
For  they  say  you  are  going  aawy. 
Refrain: 

3  Won't  you  think  of  the  valley  you're  leaving? 
Oh  how  lonely,  how  sad  it  will  be. 

Oh  think  of  the  fond  heart  you're  breaking, 
And  the  grief  you  are  causing  me  to  see? 
Refrain: 

4  From  this  valley  they  say  you  are  going; 
When  you  go,  may  your  darling  go  too? 
Would  you  leave  her  behind  unprotected 
When  she  loves  no  other  but  you? 
Refrain: 


5  I  have  promised  you,  darling,  that  never 
Will  a  word  from  my  lips  cause  you  pain; 
And  my  life,  —  it  will  be  yours  forever 

If  you  only  will  love  me  again. 
Refrain: 

6  Must  the  past  with  its  joys  be  blighted 
By  the  future  of  sorrow  and  pain, 

And  the  vows  that  was  spoken  be  slighted? 
Don't  you  think  you  can  love  me  again? 
Refrain: 

7  As  you  go  to  your  home  by  the  ocean, 
May  you  never  forget  those  sweet  hours, 
That  we  spent  in  Red  Ri\cr  Valley, 

And  the  love  we  exchanged  'mid  the  flowers. 
Refrain: 

8  There  never  could  be  such  a  longing 
In  the  heart  of  a  pure  maiden's  breast, 
That  dwells  in  the  heart  you  are  breaking 
As  I  wait  in  my  home  in  the  West. 
Refrain: 

9  And  the  dark  maiden's  prayer  for  her  lover 
To  the  Spirit  that  rules  over  the  world; 
May  his  pathway  be  ever  in  sunshine, 

Is  the  prayer  of  the  lied  River  girl. 
Refrain: 


181 


LIZA  JANE 


The  mountains  arc  friendly  and  homelike  to  many  who  live  there.  Gilbert  R.  Combs  tells  of 
men  leaving  for  a  year  or  two  of  "  ranching  it "  on  the  western  plains,  and  then  straggling  back  saying 
of  the  flat  prairies  and  level  horizons,  "It  was  too  lonesome,  too  1-o-n-e-s-o-m-e."  They  have  their 
own  ways.  Some  are  told  of  in  these  lines  from  men  who  are  a  law  unto  themselves.  There  are 
as  many  Liza  songs  in  the  Appalachian  mountains  as  there  are  species  of  trees  on  the  slopes  of  that 
range.  The  one  in  text  A  is  called  Liza  Jane  and  the  one  in  text  B  is  known  as  Mountain  Top. 


_«/.. 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


I'll 


mf) 


up 


on      the   moun  -  tain      top,      And    plant     me      a     patch     of 


JEE 


3g 

" ~m. '  '  *i     *' •  , 

~ '  p      «•— ** '-'     "^ 


/ 


cane,  I'll      make       me         a       jug        of         mo     -    las       -      scs,      For        to 


...'.;  '    r       f~t i . ."..,..  .  _,_"_.,.  __...,.,,~7'-V-  ""-T"" ."."    ~ 


sweet  -  en       lit  -  tie     Li    -    za      Jane. 


O        po*      Li    -  za,      po'       gal, 


LIZA  JANE 


3=F=? 


O    po'  Li  -  za   Jane, 


O    po'    Li  -  za,  po'    gal,          She  died    on    the  train. 


1  1*11  go  up  on  the  mountain  top, 
And  plant  me  a  patch  of  cane, 
I'll  make  me  a  jug  of  molasses, 
For  to  sweeten  little  Liza  Jane. 

Refrain: 

O  po'  Liza,  po'  gal, 
O  po'  Liza  Jane, 
O  po'  Liza,  po'  gal, 
She  died  on  the  train. 

2  I'll  go  up  on  the  mountain  top, 
Put  up  my  moonshine  still, 

I'll  make  you  a  quart  of  old  moonshine, 

For  just  one  dollar  bill. 

Refrain: 

3  Head  Is  like  a  coffee  pot, 
Nose  is  like  a  spout, 

Her  mouth  is  like  an  old  fire-place, 
With  the  ashes  all  raked  out. 
Refrain: 

4  I  went  to  see  my  Liza  Jane, 
She  was  standing  in  the  door, 

Her  shoes  and  stockings  in  her  hand, 
And  her  feet  all  over  the  floor. 
Refrain: 


5  The  hardest  work  that  ever  I  did, 
Was  a-brakin*  on  the  train,    * 
The  easiest  work  that  ever  I  did, 
Wiw  a-huggin'  little  Liza  Jane. 
Refrain: 

B 
MOUNTAIN   TOP 

1  I'll  go  up  on  the  mountain  top 
And  grow  me  a  patch  of  cane, 

I'll  make  me  a  jug  of  molasses  too, 
For  to  sweeten  up  Liza  Jane. 

2  Come  along,  sweet  Liza  Jane, 
Just  come  along  with  me, 

We'll  go  up  on  the  mountain  top, 
Some  pleasures  there  to  see. 

3  I'll  go  up  on  this  mountain  top 
Put  out  me  a  moonshine  still, 

I'll  sell  you  a  quart  of  old  moonshine 
Just  for  a  one  dollar  bill. 

4  I  will  eat  when  I  am  hungry 
And  drink  when  I  am  dry, 
If  a  tree  don't  fall  on  me 
I'll  live  until  I  die. 


133 


NEGRO  REEL 


This  mountain  piece  comes  from  Neeta  Marquis  of  Los  Angeles,  California,  who  recalls  the 
singing  of  it  in  her  family  when  she  was  a  girl.  It  was  a  traditional  tune  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee 
that  her  father  said  went  hack  to  the  Eigh teen-forties.  Alfred  Wathall  points  out  that  the  tune 
derives  from  an  old  English  contra  dance  air. 

Air.  A.  G.  W. 

Lively 


Laws   -    a  -  mas  -  soy,     what   have    you  done?  You've  mar  -  ried    the      old    man     in  - 


«/ 


BS.JL- 


•tfr- 
T  - 


m 


steud      of       his      son!      His      legs     arc      all    crook  -  ed     and  wrong    put     on,  They're 

-h    ,,,-J 


.r- 


^    piu  lento 


all      a -laugh-ing     at       your  old  man.      Now  you're  mar-ried  you  must     o- bey.  You 


184 


NEGRO  REEL 


rtt.   poco  apoco 


must    prove  true        to         all        you     say.      And     as      you    have    prom-ised,     so 


now      you      must       do, —  Kiss        him 


twice      and 

EfeSSH 


hug       him       too. 


- 


1 


1  Laws-a-massey,  what  have  you  done? 

You've  married  the  old  man  instead  of  his  son! 
His  legs  are  all  crooked  and  wrong  put  on, 
They're  all  a-laughing  at  your  old  man. 


2  Now  you're  married  you  must  obey. 
You  must  prove  true  to  all  you  say. 
And  as  you  have  promised,  so  now  you  must  do,  • 
Kiss  him  twice  and  hug  him,  too. 


196 


ONE  MORNING  IN   MAY 


This  is  a  mountain  dance  tune.  One  can  see  feet  and  fiddles,  the  bowing  of  lovers  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes,  the  exchange  of  glances  as  they  go  circling  in  "all  hands  around."  Such  a  song 
was  particularly  useful  when  the  fiddler  failed  to  show  up  or  went  out  of  commission  with  a  heavy 
cargo  of  "corn."  This  lineal  descendant  of  old  British  balladry  has  many  variants  in  America; 
an  instance  of  certain  English  folk-songs  which  have  a  wider  variety  of  text  and  tunes  in  the  Ap- 
palachian Mountains  of  the  United  States  than  are  to  be  found  in  the  British  Isles.  The  musical 
design  here  is  cunning,  and  the  skill  of  it  grows  on  us  as  we  become  more  familiar  with  it.  This 
was  heard  by  Gilbert  R.  Combs  in  his  Pine  Mountain  years.  He  gives  us  two  texts,  One  Morning 
In  May  and  The  Troubled  Soldier,  both  of  which  can  be  managed  to  the  one  tune. 

An-.  A.  G.  W. 


Moderate 


"    '"  JJTT  ""is  "      

t     ~  — — p     .—..---..—-  r.T^T -|i— 

-^3^_-._J^_jL_-^L. 


One     morn  -'  ing,      one      morn  -  ing,     one      morn  -  ing 

Ii?L 


^%=E3EHI= 


n 


May 


met     a    fair    cou  -  pie      a  -  mak-  ing   their  way,   And      one   was    a    maid  -  en    so 


bright  and   ao   fair,    And  the  oth  -  er    was    a     sol  -  dier  and  a    brave  vol  -  un  -  teer. 
tr 


MORNING  IN  MAY 

A 

1  One  morning,  one  morning,  one  morning  in  May 
I  met  a  fair  couple  a-making  their  way, 

And  one  was  a  maiden  so  bright  and  so  fair, 

And  the  other  was  a  soldier  and  a  brave  volunteer. 

2  Good  morning,  good  morning,  good  morning  to  thee, 
0  where  are  you  going  my  pretty  lady? 

O  I  am  a-going  to  the  banks  of  the  sea, 

To  see  the  waters  gliding,  hear  the  nightingale  sing. 

3  We  hadn't  been  a-standing  but  a  minute  or  two 
When  out  from  his  knapsack  a  fiddle  he  drew, 

And  the  tune  that  he  played  made  the  valleys  all  ring, 
0  see  the  waters  gliding,  hear  the  nightingale  sing. 

4  Pretty  lady,  pretty  lady,  it's  time  to  give  o'er, 
0  no,  pretty  soldier,  please  play  one  tune  more, 

I'd  rather  hear  your  fiddle  or  the  touch  of  one  string 
Than  to  sec  the  waters  gliding,  hear  the  nightingale  sing. 

5  Pretty  .soldier,  pretty  soldier,  will  you  marry  me? 

0  no,  pretty  lady,  that  never  can  be; 

I've  a  wife  in  old  London  and  children  twice  three; 
Two  wives  in  the  army's  too  many  for  me. 

6  I'll  go  back  to  London  and  stay  there  one  year 
And  often  I'll  think  of  you  my  little  dear, 

If  ever  I  return,  'twill  be  in  the  spring 

To  see  the  waters  gliding,  hear  the  nightingale  sing. 

B 
THE  TROUBLED  SOLDIER 

1  It  was  in  the  lovely  month  of  May, 

1  heard  a  poor  soldier  lamenting  and  say, 

I  heard  a  poor  soldier  lamenting  and  moan, 

"I  am  a  troubled  soldier,  no  friend  and  no  home.** 

2  O  Mary,  0  Mary,  'twas  for  your  sake  alone 
I  left  my  poor  father  and  mother  at  home, 

I  left  my  poor  father,  my  mother  to  roam,  — 
I  am  a  troubled  soldier,  no  friend  and  no  home* 


137 


THE  TROUBLED  SOLDIER 

8  I'm  troubled  in  trouble,  I'm  troubled,  and  why? 
If  trouble  don't  kill  me  I  know  I'll  never  die. 
If  Jamis  don't  hear  me  and  help  me  to  moan, 
I  am  a  troubled  soldier,  no  friend  and  no  home. 

4  Go  build  me  a  castle  on  yon  mountain  high, 

Where  the  wild  geese  can  hear  me  as  they  do  pass  by, 
Where  the  turtle  dove  can  hear  me  and  help  me  to  mourn, 
I  am  a  troubled  soldier,  no  friend  and  no  home. 

5  Don't  you  remember  on  one  Friday  night, 
While  by  your  side  I  sat,  you  said 

You  loved  me,  and  my  heart  laid  in  your  breast, 
And  if  you  didn't  get  married  you  never  could  rest? 

0  Adieu  to  Old  Kentucky  I  never  more  expect  to  see, 
For  love  and  misfortune  has  called  me  away, 
For  love  and  misfortune  has  called  me  to  mourn, 
I  am  a  troubled  soldier,  no  friend  and  no  home. 


POST-RAIL  SONG 

The  post-mil  fence  in  Kentucky  has  posts  with  holes  bored  in  them,  through  which  the  fence 
rails  run.    Fence-builders  chant  these  lines  to  the  swing  of  their  bodies  as  they  "put  'em  up  solid.'* 
We  have  this  on  the  authority  of  Charles  Hoening  of  the  University  of  Rochester  faculty.     He 
grew  up  in  the  blue  grass  region  and  when  he  had  finished  growing  he  was  six  feet  four  inches  tall 
and  put  up  solid. 


Put  *em  up    so    -    lid,    they  won't  come  down!  Hey,  ma  lad-die,       they  Von't  conie  down* 

Put  'em  up  solid,  they  won't  come  down! 
Hey,  ma  laddie,  they  won't  come  down! 


188 


HAMMER  MAN 


The  negro  worker  often  makes  songs  on  the  job,  whether  in  the  white  harvest  of  cotton  or  driving 
a  railroad  tunnel  through  a  rock  mountain.  We  are  told  of  a  research  student  who  took  a  seat  on 
a  fence  to  listen  to  the  singing  of  a  negro  work  gang  on  a  railroad.  When  he  finally  detected  their 
words  he  found  they  were  singing  lines  that  sounded  like,  "See  dat  white  man  .  .  .  sittin*  on  a  fence 
.  .  .  sittin'  on  a  fence  .  .  .  wastin'  his  time  .  .  .  wast  in*  his  time."  This  song  from  the  Combs 
collection  was  probably  made  by  negroes  on  the  job  and  learned  from  the  negroes  by  the  mountain 
whites.  Drivin'  steel  is  hard  work;  the  worker's  stay  on  the  job  depends  on  whether  he  is  treated 
right  or  wrong;  the  idea  is  big  enough  for  a  song  whose  tempo  is  hammer  swing  rhythms. 

L  G.  W. 


-J-- 


SEEEE= 


Driv  -  in'      steel, 


driv  -  in*      steel, 


Driv -in*     steel,  boys,   Is    hard    work,  I 


know;      Driv- in'    steel,  driv  -  in*    steel,         driv-in*  stoel,  boys^Is  hard  work,_I    know. 

]..r   j~— !•- 


1  Drivin'  steel,  driviu'  steel, 
Drivin'  steel,  boys, 
Is  hard  work,  I  know; 
Drivin'  steel,  drivin'  steel, 
Drivin'  steel,  boys, 
Is  hard  work,  I  know. 

3  Boss  man,  boss  man, 
Boss  man,  boys, 

See  the  boss  man  comin*  down  the  line, 
Boss  man,  boss  man, 
Boss  man,  boys, 
See  the  boss  man  comin*  down  the  line. 


Treat  me  right,  treat  me  right, 

Treat  me  right,  boys, 

I  am  bound  to  stay  all  day; 

Treat  me  wrong,  treat  me  wrong, 

Treat  me  wrong,  boys, 

I  am  bound  to  run  away. 


139 


LOVE  SOMEBODY,   YES  I  DO 


Fiddlers  play  this.  It*  time  heat  is  to  "all  hands  circle  round."  If  the  fiddlers  fail  to  come  the 
dancers  can  sing  their  music.  The  word  "love"  is  mentioned  in  every  line  but  the  last,  "Tween 
sixteen  and  twenty  -two."  It  is  for  young  folks,  and  has  air  and  step  from  an  old  English  contra 
dance,  Wathall  tells  us.  Also,  for  this  we  are  indebted  to  the  Combs  collection. 


Con  mo  to 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Love   Horne-lxxl   -  y,      yes       I        do;      love    some -hod  -  y,       yes        I        do; 


"(leyyierissimo) 


==£=l^ 


~"jj~ — ^3 

.-  ^       ^ 


izzjLzr'gbi 


Ixwc  somo -})o<l  -  y,      yes        I       do;       Love  some  -  bod  -  y,    but      I     won't  tell    who. 


m/  -— 


...j^-. 


•    1      ^"  —  -  -* 


Love    some  -bod    -    y,      yes       I       do;     Love     some  -bod    -    y»      yes       I        do; 


poeoriL 


LOVE  SOMEBODY,  YES  I  DO 
— r    .~       5  a  tempo 


Love    some-bod    -    y,      yes      I      do;  And    I    hope  some-bod  -  y     loves  me    too. 


1  Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  but  I  won't  tell  who. 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
And  I  hope  somebody  loves  me  too. 


2  Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  but  I  won't  tell  who. 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do; 
Love  somebody,  yes  I  do, 
Tween  sixteen  and  twenty-two. 


AIN'T  GONNA  RAIN 

This  Iowa  and  Nebraska  danee  song  has  mountaineer  and  negro  versions;  it  came  west  from 
Kentucky  and  other  southern  states  according  to  Edwin  Ford  Pij>cr;  it  is  at  least  as  old  as  the 
1870's. 


rzrJ T:  rjqfi — fc____j^_-zid •..../„  r  ^jrrrr^rriKr'vd ._::„„ 

ri^^i^i^^^^E^l-i^^  Jr-  31".  +  -  ~J 

^— t ^r ^— I 


rrj"~:j| 


1.  It     ain't    gon-na   rain,      it      ain't  gon  -  na    snow,  [In     ain't  gon-na    rain      no 


mo';     Come    on      ev  -  *ry  -  bod  -  y      now,     Ain't    gon  -  na    rain      no       mo*. 


£  Oh,  what  did  the  blackbird  say  to  the  crow? 

It  ain't  gonna  rain  no  mo', 
Ain't  gonna  hail,  ain't  gonna  snow, 
Ain't  gonna  rain  no  mo9. 


3  Bake  them  biscuits  good  and  brown, 

It  ain't  gonna  rain  no  mo'. 
Swing  yo*  ladies  round  and  round, 
Ain't  gonna  rain  no  mo*. 


141 


KENTUCKY  MOONSHINER 


Gilbert  R.  Combs  says  that  of  all  songs  he  heard  as  he  grew  up  in  the  mountains,  this  is  the 
most  desolate  and  poignant.  It  wails;  it  brandishes  sorrow;  it  publishes  grief;  it  opens  the  final 
stop-gaps  of  lonely  fate,  staunchly  vocal.  This  relates  directly  to  ancient  Gaelic  lamentations  over 
dead  kings;  it  is  "keening"  of  a  sort  and  has  the  character  of  melody  suitable  to  a  wake  over  one 
with  the  lights  gone  from  him.  A  "grocery,"  we  note,  is  a  general  store  keeping  liquor  among 
provisions  and  staples  for  sale. 


Vehemently,  desolately,  and  with  eauy  sliding  from  note  to  note. 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


I've     been        a       moon  -  shin  -    er          for     sev'n  -  teen         long  years,        I've 


spent   all     my  inon  -  ey      forwhis-key      and  boors.    I'll      go    to  some  hol-ler,       I'll 

/rs         /TS 


put    up     my    still,      I'll    make  you    one    gal  -  Ion     for     a    two    dol  -  lar    bill. 

••••••^••••••^  ^^          ^^ 


149 


KENTUCKY  MOONSIHKER 

1  I*ve  been  a  moonshiner  for  seventeen  long  years, 
I've  spent  all  my  money  for  whiskey  and  beers. 
I'll  go  to  some  holler,  I'll  put  up  my  still, 

I'll  make  you  one  gallon  for  a  two  dollar  bill. 

2  I'll  go  to  some  grocery  and  drink  with  my  friends, 
No  women  to  follow  to  see  what  I  spends. 

God  bless  those  pretty  women,  I  wish  they  were  mine, 
Their  breath  smells  as  sweet  as  the  dew  on  the  vine. 

3  I'll  eat  when  I'm  hungry  and  drink  when  I'm  dry, 
If  moonshine  don't  kill  me,  I'll  live  till  I  die. 

God  bless  those  moonshiners,  I  wish  they  were  mine, 
Their  breath  smells  as  sweet  as  the  good  old  moonshine. 

MISTER  FROG   WENT  A-COURTING 

"In  continuous  use  for  four  hundred  years,"  L.  W.  Payne  tells  us  in  a  forty-four  page  history 
of  the  song  in  Publication  No.  5  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society;  he  prints  sixteen  tunes  and  has 
many  more.  The  following  is  a  Kentucky  and  Virginia  version,  with  text  additions  from  Payne. 
"Ah-hah"  can  be  "ulm-huhn,"  "eh-heh,"  "och-kungh"  (like  a  bull  frog)  and,  as  you  please. 


Mis  -  ter  Frog   went    a  -  court  -  ing,  he      did     ride,     ah  -hah,      ah  -  hah!    Mis  -  tcr 


Frog  went  a-court-ing,he  did  ride,     a  sword  and  pis  -  tol  by    his  side,  ah-hah,    ah-hah! 

1  Mister  Frog  went  a-courting,  he  did  ride,  ah-hah,  ah-hah! 

Mister  Frog  went  a-courting,  he  did  ride,  a  sword  and  a  pistol  by  his  side,  ah-hah,  ah-hah! 

2  He  rode  up  to  Miss  Mousie's  door,  ah-hah,  ah-hah! 

He  rode  up  to  Miss  Mousie's  door,  where  he  had  often  been  l>efore,  ah-hah,  ah-hah! 

3  Now  Uncle  Rat  when  he  came  home  says,  "Who's  l>een  here  since  I  been  gone?" 

4  "A  very  fine  gentleman  has  been  here  who  wishes  me  to  be  his  dear." 

6  Uncle  Rat  laughed  and  shook  his  side  to  think  his  niece  would  be  a  bride. 

6  Uncle  Rat  on  a  horse  he  went  to  town  to  buy  his  niece  a  wedding  gown. 

7  Where  shall  the  wedding  supper  be?  Away  down  yonder  in  a  hollow  tree. 

8  What  shall  the  wedding  supper  be?  Three  green  beans  and  a  black-eyed  pea. 

9  Tell  us,  what  was  the  bride  dressed  in?  A  cream  gauze  veil 'and  a  brass  breastpin. 

10  Tell  us  next  what  was  the  groom  dressed  in?  Sky  blue  britches  with  silver  stitches. 

11  The  first  came  in  was  a  bumble  bee,  to  play  the  fiddle  upon  his  knee. 

12  They  all  sat  down  and  began  to  chat,  when  in  walked  the  kitten  and  the  cat. 

13  Mrs.  Cat  she  stepped  to  the  supper  and  turned  over  the  plate  of  butter. 

14  Miss  Mousie  went  a-tearing  up  the  wall,  her  foot  slipped  and  she  got  a  fall. 

15  They  all  went  a-sailing  across  the  lake,  and  they  all  were  swallowed  by  a  big  black  snake. 

16  So  here's  the  end  of  one,  two,  three,  the  cat,  the  frog  and  Miss  Mousie. 

17  There's  bread  and  cheese  upon  the  shelf,  and  if  you  want  any  just  help  yourself. 

143 


KIND  MISS 


"Did  she  marry  him  for  love  or  money?"  is  about  as  old  as  the  query,  "Would  you  rathei 
marry  a  handsome  man  who  is  poor  or  a  man  with  lots  of  money  and  a  face  like  a  mud  fence?" 
The  answer  among  children  is,  "I'd  rather  have  both."  In  the  Kentucky  song  here  we  have  an 
offer  of  marriage,  even  elopement.  The  girl  refuses  and  tells  why.  .  .  .  Ann  Riddell  Anderson  of 
the  University  of  Kentucky  communicates  this;  her  father,  Hugh  Riddell,  is  judge  in  a  circuit 
of  courts  including  "  Bloody  Brcathitt "  County. 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 
Con  mo  to  ^ ^        

EEjfcE^fci^fe^ 


— .g.. jz^-j| 


Kind  miss,  kind  miss,  go      ask  your  moth-er      If  you,  my  bride  shall  ev  -  er        be. 


iit  lento      r 


poco  rit. 


If     she  says  "Yes,"  Come  back  and   tell    me,     If    she    says  "No,"  we'll  run     a   -  way. 


1  Kind  miss,  kind  miss,  go  ask  your  mother 
If  you,  my  bride  shall  ever  be. 
If  she  says  "Yes,"  come  back  and  tell  me, 
If  she  says  "No,"  well  run  away. 

£  Kind  miss,  I  have  much  gold  and  silver, 
Kind  miss,  I  have  a  house  and  land, 
Kind  miss,  I  have  a  world  of  pleasure, 
And  all  of  these  at  thy  command. 

3  What  do  I  care  for  your  gold  and  silver, 
What  do  I  care  for  your  house  and  land. 
What  do  I  care  for  your  world  of  pleasure, 
When  all  I  want  is  a  handsome  man. 


144 


GOINf  DOWN  TO  TOWN 

This  is  comic  poetry,  in  a  rough  and  tumble  sense,  put  to  a  tune  that  is  strictly  rough  and 
tumble.  Millions  of  horses  and  mules  have  heard  this,  and  the  likes  of  it,  from  drivers  on  the 
wagon  seat  singing  to  themselves.  It  is  a  horse's  earful. 


I      used     to    have     an    old  grey  horse,  He  weighed  ten    thou  -  sand  pounds, 


"z*E£EE3EEE3EEEfe 


Ev    -  Vy    tooth    he    had     in      his     head,  Was    eight  -  teen      in  -  dies       a  -  round. 

REFRAIN 

4- --K-  ---fcf  ^J — ^- —  0: 


*- 


-m — * 


I'm     a  -   go  -   in*    down    to      town,    I'm     a  -    go    -  in*  down     to      town,    Fin     a    - 


go 


1  I  used  to  have  an  old  grey  horse, 
He  weighed  ton  thousand  pounds, 
Ev'ry  tooth  he  had  in  his  head, 
Was  eighteen  inches  around. 

Refrain: 

I'm  a-goin*  down  to  town, 

I'm  a-goin'  down  to  town, 

I'm  a-goin'  down  to  Lynchburg  town, 

To  carry  my  tobacco  down. 

2  That  horse  he  had  a  holler  tooth, 
He  could  eat  ten  bushels  of  corn, 
Ev'ry  time  he  opened  his  mouth, 
Two  bushels  and  a  half  were  gone. 
Refrain: 


t~_ ..  ..T,-!  ~_~_i  — j^- «^T,,i.,'. . .  _j^ _ —  _  ^, '_.  i  _m!i 

^^II^^ 


IF    *  ^  ^  ^  9    * 

o  -    in*     down     to  Lynch-burg  town,     To    car  -    ry     my      to  -  bac  -  co    down. 


S  I  had  a  yaller  gal, 

I  brought  her  from  the  south, 
All  the  fault  I  had  with  her, 
She  had  too  big  a  mouth. 
Refrain: 

4  I  took  her  down  to  the  blacksmith  shop, 
To  get  her  mouth  made  .small, 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  get  a  long  breath, 
And  swallowed  blacksmith,  shop  and  all. 
Refrain: 

5  I'm  a-goiri*  to  get  me  some  sticks  and  sand, 
To  make  rny  chimney  higher, 

To  keep  that  dog-goned  old  torn  cat, 
From  puttin*  out  my  fire. 
Refrain: 


145 


THE  SHIP  THAT  NEVER  RETURNED 

A  Kentucky  mountain  version  of  a  popular  song  of  about  1870,  we  are  told.  Gilbert  R.  Combs 
heard  it  as  a  boy  on  Pine  Mountain.  The  Prisoner's  Song,  a  1925-1926  "hit,"  got  its  melody  from 
"The  Ship  that  Never  Returned"  and  its  verses  from  another  old  timer,  "Moonlight."  That  is, 
two  songs  Broadway  launched  and  forgot,  lived  on  and  changed,  mellowed  and  sweetened  among 
the  mountaineers.  Years  later  the  tune  of  one  forgotten  "hit"  joined  to  the  verses  of  another, 
sweep  the  country  as  a  Broadway  triumph.  Such,  in  short,  is  the  history  of  The  Prisoner's  Song; 
R.  W.  Gordon  is  to  give  us  the  documents  in  full.  From  the  homemade  dulcimers  of  Pine  Mountain 
to  the  repercussive  banjoes  and  sobbing  saxophones  of  Broadway  was  a  long  leap  for  this  old  tune. 
It  will  be  fretted  on  the  keyboards  of  those  same  dulcimers  when  Broadway  has  again  tossed  it  to 
the  anh  cans.  The  manner  and  method  of  its  next  comeback  is  anybody's  guess. 

»«**,  A,,.H.F.P. 

W 


^  - 


|^r 


n  sum  -  rner's  day  while  tne  waves  were  rip-pling,  with  a    qui-et    and    a   gen  -tie 


breeze; 


A         ship     set     sail    with    a      car  -  go  la  -  den    for      a 


RRFRAIH 


port      be-yond     the       sea Did   she     ev  -  er        re  -  turn?  No,     she 


THE  SHIP  THAT  NEVER  RETURNED 


-  - 


IP 


nev-er      returned,and  her  fate     is      still  un  -  learned,    .     .     .    But    a   last  poor  man  set 


sail      com-mand- er,     on      a       ship    that     nev-er        re   -    turned 


-r=*E3=j 


rrtrrftMz: 


zt          W-«  •  "~~ 


1  On  a  summer's  day  while  the  waves  were  rippling,  with  a  quiet  and  a  gentle  breeze; 
A  ship  set  sail  with  a  eargo  laden  for  a  port  beyond  the  sea. 

Refrain: 

Did  she  ever  return?     No,  she  never  returned,  and  her  fate  is  still  unlearned, 
But  a  last  poor  man  set  sail  commander,  on  a  ship  that  never  returned. 

2  There  were  sad  farewells,  there  were  friends  forsaken,  and  her  fate  is  still  unlearned, 
But  a  last  poor  man  set  sail  commander  on  a  ship  that  never  returned. 

Refrain: 

3  Said  a  feeble  lad  to  his  aged  mother,  I  must  cross  that  deep  blue  sea, 

For  I  hear  of  a  land  in  the  far  off  country,  where  there's  health  arid  strength  for  me. 
Refrain : 

4  Tis  a  gleam  of  hope  and  a  maze  of  danger,  and  our  fate  is  still  to  learn, 
And  a  last  poor  man  set  sail  commander,  on  a  ship  that  never  returned. 
Refrain: 

6  Said  this  feeble  lad  to  his  aged  mother,  as  he  kissed  his  weeping  wife, 
"Just  one  more  purse  of  that  golden  treasure,  it  will  last  us  all  through  life. 
Refrain: 

6  "Then  we'll  live  in  peace  and  joy  together  and  enjoy  all  I  have  earned." 

So  they  sent  him  forth  with  a  smile  and  blessing  on  a  ship  that  never  returned. 
Refrain: 

147 


DOWN  IN  THE  VALLEY 


Here  are  nine  verses  of  a  poem  as  idle  as  the  wind.  It  is  an  old  fashioned  lyric,  simple  in  its 
stitches  yet  as  fixed  in  its  design  as  certain  "kiverlids"  made  by  housewives  in  the  Kentucky  moun- 
tains. I  have  heard  the  remark,  "It  is  a  good  song  to  be  singing  while  writing  a  love  letter  —  it  is 
full  of  wishes  —  and  dances  a  little  —  and  hopes  a  beloved  dancing  partner  will  come  back/*  The 
text  and  tune  are  from  Frances  Ries  of  Batavia,  Ohio. 

Anr.  A.  G.  W. 

Andante  tranquillo 


vcr, 


Hear     the       wind 


blow. 


^:^:i;:^== 

.  —  (       _    _ L    ^  (I         ..   r*'-      ^ 

*        •*•       !%*     * 


n 


1  Down  in  the  valley, 
The  valley  so  low, 
Hang  your  head  over, 
Hear  the  wind  blow. 

2  Hear  the  wind  blow,  dear, 
Hear  the  wind  blow, 
Hang  your  head  over, 
Hear  the  wind  blow. 

3  If  you  don't  love  me, 
Love  whom  you  please; 
Throw  your  arms  "round  me, 
Give  my  heart  ease. 


4  Throw  your  arms  'round  me, 
Before  it's  too  late; 
Throw  yours  'round  me, 
Feel  my  heart  break. 

5  Writing  this  letter, 
Containing  three  lines, 
Answer  my  question : 
44  Will  you  be  mine?" 

6  "Will  you  be  mine,  dear, 
Will  you  be  mine?'* 
Answer  my  question: 
"Will  you  be  mine?" 


7  Go  build  me  a  castle 
Forty  feet  high; 

So  I  can  see  him, 
As  he  goes  by. 

8  As  he  goes  by,  dear; 
As  he  goes  by; 

So  I  can  see  him, 
As  he  goes  by. 

9  Roses  love  sunshine. 
Violets  love  dew, 
Angels  in  heaven 
Knows  I  love  you. 


148 


I  DREAMED  LAST  NIGHT  OF  MY  TRUE  LOVE 


English  travelers  have  said  it  is  the  17th  century  language  of  England  that  is  spoken  in  certain 
isolated  mountain  and  seaboard  corners  of  America.  Among  these  pocketed  populations  they  say 
"poke"  for  "pocket,"  "my  may"  for  "my  sweetheart,"  and  asking  a  kiss,  "Come  buss  me."  ,  .  . 
The  mountaineer  may  remark  of  his  horse,  "That  mare  is  the  loveliest  runner  and  the  sensiblest 
animal  I  ever  saddled,"  or  he  may  give  places  names  such  as  Shoo  Bird  Mountain,  Shake-a-rag 
Holler,  or  Huggins  Hell.  Once  in  Kentucky  a  wanderer  inquiring  the  route  was  told  he  was  on  the 
right  road  and  to  go  on  "  about  two  screeches  and  a  holler."  .  .  .  The  independent  lingo  and  manner 
of  the  mountaineer  is  in  this  text  and  tune  from  Mrs.  Mark  £.  Hutchinson  of  Mount  Vernon,  Iowa, 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


^ 


^FFr-yrr 


I  dreamed  last  night  of       my    true  love   All       in     my  arms    I       had    her       Her 


mft 


? 


pret  -  ty    yel  -  Icr    hair    like  strands  of     gold    Lay   dang  -  ling  round  my      pil   -  ler. 

/* 


1  I  dreamed  last  night  of  my  true  love. 
All  in  my  arms  I  had  her; 

Her  pretty  yellcr  hair  like  strands  of  gold, 
Lay  dangling  round  my  pi  Her. 

2  I  waked  in  the  morning  and  found  her  not. 
I  was  forced  to  do  without  her; 

I  went  unto  her  uncle's  house* 
Inquiring  for  this  lady. 


3  He  said  that  she  was  not  there, 
And  neither  would  he  keep  her. 
I  turned  around  to  go  away, 
My  love  she  come  to  the  winder. 

4  She  said  that  she  would  come  to  me, 
If  doors  nor  locks  did  not  hinder. 

I  turned  around  and  broke  them  locks, 
I  broke  'em  all  asinder  (asunder). 


149 


DRIVIN'  STEEL 


The  mountaineers  of  East  Tennessee  have  their  own  song  of  the  steel  driving  man  who  toils  in 
tunnels  and  on  railroads.  This  version  is  from  Gilbert  R.  Combs  as  he  heard  it  from  mountaineers. 
It  is  a  working  class  song  straight  from  men  on  the  job,  uttered  to  muscular  body  rhythms.  We 
can  almost  hear  the  ring  of  steel  on  steel.  There  is  heave  of  shoulders,  deep  breath  control,  the 
touch  of  hands  on  a  familiar  well-worn  hammer  handle. 

A  little  lively  Arr.A.  G.W. 


If  I       could    drive     steel     like      John     Hen    -    ry     .     .  I'd        go 


"M 


-&" 
mf 


tf 


^I^iiiir:  jlt^^fe 


1  If  I  eoulcl  drive  steel  like  John  Henry 
I'd  go  home,  Baby,  I'd  go  home. 

2  If  I  had  forty-one  dollars 

I'd  go  home,  Baby,  IM  go  home. 

3  I'm  goin'  home  and  tell  Little  Annie, 
No  mo'  trials,  Baby,  no  mo'  trials. 

4  Do  you  hear  that  rain  crow  hollerin'? 
Sign  of  rain,  Baby,  sign  of  rain. 

5  This  old  hammer  killed  John  Henry 
Can't  kill  me,  Baby,  can't  kill  me. 

0  This  old  hammer  killed  Bill  Dooley 
Can't  kill  me,  Baby,  can't  kill  me. 

7  This  old  hammer  weighs  forty  pounds,  sah, 
Can't  kill  me,  Baby,  can't  kill  me. 
150 


THE  LINCOLNS  AND  HANKSES 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAGE 

THE  MISSOURI  HARMONY 15$ 

WINDSOR 153 

GREENFIELDS 154 

WORTHINGTON 154 

HIGHBRIDGE 155 

LEGACY 155 

THE  BROWN  GIRL  OR  FAIR  ELEANOR 156 

HEY  BETTY  MARTIN Alfred  0.  WatfuJl   .          .          .          .158 

OLD  BRASS  WAGON llazd  Fdman         .        ,        .        .     159 

CUCKOO  WALTZ Jlozd  Fdman         .       .       .       .     160 

WEEVILY  WHEAT 161 

EL-A-NOY Hazel  Fdman         ....     16* 

H OOB EN  JOHNNY Alfred  G.  Wathall  .        .        .        .164 

MY  PRETTY  LITTLE  PINK Alfred  0.  Wathall  .       .       .       .166 

LINCOLN  AND   LIBERTY 167 

OLD  ABE  LINCOLN   CAME   OUT   OF   THE   WILDERNESS  .          Hazel  Fdman  ....       168 


151 


THE   MISSOURI   HARMONY 

A  famous  oblong  song  book  of  the  pioneer  days  in  the  middle  west  was  "The  Missouri  Har- 
mony,'* published  in  1808  by  Morgan  and  Sanxay  of  Cincinnati!.  Young  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
his  sweetheart,  Ann  Rutledge,  sang  from  this  book  in  the  Rutledge  tavern  in  New  Salem,  according 
to  old  Hcttlers  there.  It  was  used  at  camp  meetings  of  Peter  Cartwright  and  other  circuit  riding 
evangelists,  and  was  highly  thought  of  by  many  church  members  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 

Though  the  volume  included  "Legacy"  an  Irish  drinking  song,  praising  "balmy  drops  of  the 
red  grape/*  the  author  in  his  instructions  to  singers,  warned  them:  "A  cold  or  cough,  all  kinds  of 
spiritouH  liquors,  violent  exercise,  bile  upon  the  stomach,  long  fasting,  the  veins  overcharged  with 
impure  blood,  etc.,  etc.,  are  destructive  to  the  voice  of  one  who  is  much  in  the  habit  of  singing.  A 
frequent  use  of  spiritous  liquors  will  speedily  ruin  the  best  voice." 

In  further  advice  on  vocal  hygiene,  he  declared,  "A  frequent  use  of  some  acid  drink,  such  as 
purified  cider,  elixir  of  vitriol  with  water,  vinegar,  etc.,  if  used  sparingly  is  strengthening  to  the 
lungs,*' 

The  author  of  the  "supplement"  on  how  to  sing,  kept  himself  anonymous,  the  title  page  saying 
the  book  was  "By  An  Amateur."  He  desired  his  readers  to  know  "the  superiority  of  vocal  to 
instrumental  music  is,  that  while  one  only  pleases  the  ear,  the  other  informs  the  understanding.*' 
Under  the  head  of  "General  Observations,"  he  gave  these  hints  on  the  frame  of  mind  singers  should 
try  for:  "There  should  not  l>e  any  noise  indulged  in  while  singing  (except  the  music)  as  it  destroys 
entirely  the  beauty  of  harmony,  and  renders  the  performance  (especially  to  learners)  very  difficult; 
and  if  it  is  designedly  promoted,  it  is  nothing  less  than  a  proof  of  disrespect  in  the  singers  to  the 
exercise,  to  themselves  who  occasion  it,  and  to  the  Author  of  our  existence." 

"All  'affectation*  should  be  banished.  It  is  disgusting  in  the  performance  of  sacred  music, 
and  contrary  to  that  solemnity  which  should  accompany  an  exercise  so  near  akin  to  that  which  will 
through  all  eternity  engage  the  attention  of  those  who  walk  'in  climes  of  bliss.'"  "The  great 
Jehovah,  who  implanted  in  our  nature  the  noble  faculty  of  vocal  performance,  is  jealous  of  the  use 
to  which  we  apply  our  talents  in  that  particular  lest  we  exercise  them  in  a  way  which  does  not  tend 
to  glorify  his  name." 

The  pages  from  the  "Missouri  Harmony,"  reproduced  here,  contain  at  least  two  songs  with 
which  Abraham  Lincoln  had  close  acquaintance.  Dennis  Hanks,  a  cousin  of  Lincoln,  has  related 
that  in  Spencer  County,  Indiana,  the  song,  "How  Tedious  and  Tasteless  the  Hours,"  (Greenfields), 
was  well-known,  and  New  Salem,  Illinois,  residents  have  told  of  how  Lincoln  parodied  "Legacy." 


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THE  BROWN  GIRL  OR  FAIR  ELEANOR 

Nancy  Hanks  in  her  old  Kentucky  home,  sang  ballads  the  western  pioneers  brought  through 
Cumberland  Gap  from  the  uplands  and  mountains  farther  east*  The  story  of  the  Brown  Girl 
stabbing  Fair  Eleanor,  then  having  her  head  cut  off  by  Lord  Thomas,  who  killed  himself  and  was 
buried  with  the  two  women,  sounds  almost  like  a  grand  opera  plot.  Grim  and  terrible  though  this 
ballad  story  is,  the  tune  is  even,  comforting,  a  little  like  riding  a  slow  galloping  horse.  It  is  still 
used  in  many  a  southern  mountain  home  for  rocking  the  children  to  sleep.  Little  Abe  Lincoln, 
as  a  child,  probably  heard  The  Brown  Girl,  according  to  persons  familiar  with  Kentucky  back- 
grounds. This  version  is  from  the  Reed  Smith  ballad  group  published  by  the  University  of  South 
Carolina;  it  was  heard  by  Tressie  Pierce  in  Alexander  County,  North  Carolina.  The  thirteenth 
verse  is  an  interpolation  from  another  text,  to  explain  the  killing  of  Lord  Thomas  by  himself  before 
he  is  buried  with  the  two  ladies  who  so  suddenly  met  violent  deaths.  Where  the  singer  is  so  in- 
clined, the  last  lines  of  each  verse  are  repeated. 


beat     ad  -  vice      I    can  give  you,  my    son,       Is     to    bring    the  Brown  Girl      home. 


1  "The  Brown  Girl  she  has  houses  and  lands, 

Fair  Eleanor  she  has  none; 
The  l>est  advice  I  can  give  you,  my  son, 
Is  to  bring  the  Brown  Girl  home/* 

2  He  dressed  himself  in  scarlet  red, 

And  rode  all  over  the  town; 
And  everybody  that  saw  him  that  day, 
Thought  he  was  the  King. 

3  He  rode  till  he  came  to  Fair  Eleanor's  door, 

And  tingled  at  the  ring; 
And  none  so  ready  as  Fair  Eleanor, 
To  arise  and  let  him  in. 

4  "What  news,  what  news,  Lord  Thomas,"  she  said, 

"What  news  have  you  for  me?" 
"I've  come  to  ask'you  to  my  weddin'. 
Tomorrow  is  the  day." 

5  "Bad  news,  bad  news,  Lord  Thomas,"  she  said, 

"  Bad  news,  bad  news,  to  me; 
You've  come  to  ask  me  to  your  weddin', 
When  I  thought  your  bride  I  was  to  be.** 

156 


THE  BROWN  GIRL  OR  FAIR  ELEANOR 

6  She  dressed  herself  in  scarlet  red, 

And  rode  all  over  the  town; 
And  everybody  that  saw  her  that  day, 
Took  her  to  be  the  Queen. 

7  She  rode  till  she  came  to  Lord  Thomas'  door, 

And  tingled  at  the  ring; 
And  none  so  ready  as  Lord  Thomas  himself, 
To  arise  and  let  her  in. 

8  "Is  this  your  bride?  Lord  Thomas,"  she  cried, 

"I'm  sure,  she's  wonderful  brown; 
You  might  have  had  as  fair  a  young  bride, 
As  ever  the  sun  shone  on." 

9  The  Brown  Girl,  she  had  a  long  pen-knife, 

Twas  wonderful  long  and  sharp; 

Between  the  short  ribs  and  the  long, 

She  pierced  Fair  Eleanor's  heart. 

10  "Fair  Eleanor,  what  makes  you  look  so  pale? 

You  used  to  look  so  red; 
You  used  to  have  two  rosy  red  cheeks, 
And  now  you've  nary  one." 

11  "Oh,  don't  you  see,  or  can't  you  see, 

The  knife  that  was  pierced  in  me? 
Oh,  don't  you  see  my  own  heart's  blood, 
A-tricklin'  to  my  knee?" 

12  Lord  Thomas  had  a  long  broad-sword, 

It  was  wonderful  long  and  sharp, 
He  cut  the  head  of  the  Brown  Girl  off, 
And  kicked  it  against  the  wall. 

13  He  pointed  the  handle  toward  the  sun, 

The  point  toward  his  breast. 
"Here  is  the  going  of  three  true  loves, 
God  send  our  souls  to  rest. 

14  "Go  dig  my  grave  under  yonder  green  tree, 

Go  dig  it  wide  and  long; 
And  bury  Fair  Eleanor  in  my  arms, 
And  the  Brown  Girl  at  my  feet." 


157 


HEY  BETTY  MARTIN 


In  the  early  1890's,  in  the  tank  towns  of  the  corn  telt,  few  women  bobbed  their  hair.  Often 
when  a  woman  who  had  taken  this  li  tarty  walked  along  Main  Street  on  a  night  when  there  was  to 
be  a  band  concert  on  the  public  square,  she  was  an  object  of  special  scrutiny.  Young  men  would 
sing  at  her: 

Chippy,  get  your  hair  cut,  hair  cut,  hair  cut, 

Chippy,  get  your  hair  cut,  hair  cut  short. 

The  tune  went  back  to  a  ditty  sung  in  the  1860's  during  the  War  between  the  States,  as  follows: 

Johnny,  git  your  gun  and  your  sword  and  your  pistol, 
Johnny,  git  your  gun  and  come  with  me. 

The  tune  is  at  least  as  old  as  the  War  of  1812,  when  drummer  boys  beat  it  on  their  drums  and 
sang  words  about  "Hey  Itetty  Martin  Tiptoe."  We  have  that  drummer's  melody  and  words  from 
A.  T.  Vance,  a  lx>ng  Island,  New  York,  fisherman  who  was  raised  in  Kansas,  and  whose  great- 
grandfather was  a  drummer  in  the  War  of  1812.  The  tune  is  traditionary  in  the  Vance  family  and 
is  executed  with  variations  hy  Comfort  Vance,  son  of  A.  T.  The  tempo,  Wathall  indicates,  is  alle- 
gretto acherzando,  which  in  1812  meant  "Make  it  snappy,"  or  "Let's  go."  - 


Allegretto  Hchw/ando 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 
f>  =- 


i 


t ^ 9. — j,~^ ^ ^ ^ — i — ^ 9 — ' — W •= 

Hey   Bet -ty  Mar -tin,     tip  -  toe,    tip  -  toe,  Hey    Bet -ty  Mar- tin,    tip  -  toe   fine, 


Hi 


OLD  BRASS  WAGON 

Indiana,  Missouri  and  Iowa  pioneers  had  this  dance  game.    The  note  following  the  verses 
below  is  from  The  Play-Party  in  Indiana  by  Leah  Jackson  Wolford. 

Arr.  H.  P. 


w  ^ ^ 

Cir-cle      to     the    left,     the    Old   Brass  Wag  -  on;     Cir-cle     to      the    left,     the 


Old  Brass  Wagon,  Cir-cle  to   the  left,  the  Old  Brass  Wagon,  Von 're  the  one,  my  dar  -  ling. 


1  Circle  to  the  left,  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  my  darling. 

2  Swing  oh  swing,  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  my  darling. 

8  Promenade  home,  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  my  darling. 

4  Shoddish  up  and  down,  the  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  my  darling. 

5  Break  and  swing,  the  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  ray  darling. 

6  Promenade  around  the  Old  Brass  Wagon, 
You're  the  one,  my  darling.  ^ 

NOTE.  —  Repeat  the  first  line  of  each  stanza  three  times.  During  1,  all  join  hands,  boys  being 
at  the  left  of  their  partners,  and  circle  left.  At  2,  they  drop  hands  and  each  boy  swings  his  partner. 
During  3,  partners  promenade,  circling  to  the  right.  Repeat  from  the  beginning  while  singing 
stanzas  4,  5  and  6. 

159 


CUCKOO  WALTZ 

The  tune  here  U  ancient.  Saxon,  Teuton,  Slav,  Magyar,  have  used  the  likes  of  it  in  dance  and 
folk  song.  .  .  .  Hazel  Felman  gives  it  an  old-fashioned  music  box  setting.  .  .  .  Leah  Jackson  Wol- 
ford's  book  on  "The  Play-Party  in  Indiana/'  includes  the  tune  and  a  description  of  the  dance. 

Arr.  II.  F. 


Three  times  round  the  cuck-oo  waltz,Threc  times  round  the  cuck-oo  waltz,Three  times  round  the 

8va. 


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_4 j 1  -  —t~  _ 

rjzzfc-^f: 


ritard. 


cuck-oo  waltz,Lovc-  ly  Sus  -  ic  Brown.    Fare  thcc  well,  my  charm  ing  girl,  Fare  thcewcll  I'm 


Fare  thee  well,   my  charming   girl,  With  gold  -  en    slip  -pers     on. 

jSjTj—sF/jE 
*t^|__^|_ 


1 


<r-* 


(a)  Choose  your  parti  as  we  go  round, 
Choose  your  parti  as  we  go  round, 
Choose  your  pard  as  we  go  round, 

(l>)    Well  all  take  Susie  Brown. 


(c)  Fare  thee  well,  my  charming  girl, 

(d)  Fare  thee  well  I'm  gone, 

Fare  thee  well,  my  charming  girl, 
With  golden  slippers  on. 


NOTE.  —  A  t>oy  and  a  girl  stand  in  the  center.  All  of  the  others  (irrespective  of  partners) 
circle  to  the  left  around  them  during  (a).  At  (b)  the  girl  chooses  a  boy,  the  boy  a  girl,  and  all  four 
stand  in  the  center.  At  (c)  the  two  couples  in  the  center  form  a  circle,  each  boy  opposite  his  partner. 
Partners  cross  hands  forming  a  "  star  "  and  circle  left.  Repeat  with  left  hands  and  circle  right.  At 
(d)  each  of  the  boys  in  the  center  swings  the  contrary  girl,  then  two-steps  with  his  partner. 

160 


WEEVILY  WHEAT 

"Way  Down  in  the  Paw  Paw  Patch/'  and  "All  Chaw  Hay  on  the  Corner,"  were  play-party 
*mgs  in  early  times  in  Indiana.  Others  were  "Pig  in  the  Parlor,"  "Pop,  Goes  the  Weasel,"  "Old 
Bald  Eagle  Sail  Around,"  "Old  Sister  Phoebe,"  "Skip  to  My  Lou,"  "Thus  the  Farmer  Sows  His 
Seed-"  A  dance  somewhat  like  Virginia  Reel  went  to  the  song  of  "  Weevily  Wheat."  Indications 
are  that  the  Charley  of  this  song  may  be  the  Prince  Charlie  of  Jacobite  ballads;  he  figures  in  songs 
of  the  Scotch  Highlanders  who  were  harassed  during  Prince  Charlie's  time,  left  their  homes  to  take 
up  life  in  the  Alleghanies  and  to  spread  westward. 


It's    step    her     to  yourweev'-ly  wheat,  It's  step    her     to  your    bar  -    ley,     It 


step     her       to     your  weev   -  'Iy   wheat,    To  bake       a     cake     for    Char   -    ley. 

1  It's  step  her  to  your  weev'ly  wheat, 
It's  step  her  to  your  barley, 
It's  step  her  to  your  weev'ly  wheat, 
To  bake  a  cake  for  Charley. 

Refrain: 

O  Charley  he's  a  fine  young  man, 
0  Charley  he's  a  dandy, 
He  loves  to  hug  and  kiss  the  girls, 
And  feed  *em  on  good  candy. 

£  The  higher  up  the  cherry  tree, 
The  riper  grow  the  cherries. 
The  more  you  hug  and  kiss  the  girls, 
The  sooner  they  will  marry. 
Refrain: 

8  Over  the  river  to  water  the  sheep, 
To  measure  up  the  barley, 
Over  the  river  to  water  the  sheep, 
To  bake  a  cake  for  Charley. 
Refrain: 

4  My  pretty  little  Pink,  I  suppose  you  think, 
I  care  but  little  about  you, 
But  I'll  let  you  know  before  you  go 
I  cannot  do  without  you. 
Refrain: 


161 


EL-A-NOY 

Among  the  pioneers  were  boomers,  boosters.  About  the  time  this  song  came,  the  Shawnee- 
town  Advocate,  only  newspaper  in  seven  counties  of  southern  Illinois,  was  proclaiming  its  ideal  to  be 
"universal  liberty  abroad,  and  an  ocean-bound  republic  at  home."  In  northern  Illinois,  the  Gem 
of  the  Prairie,  a  weekly  magazine  published  in  Chicago,  was  declaring,  "The  West  must  have  a 
literature  peculiarly  its  own.  It  is  here  that  the  great  problem  of  human  destiny  will  be  worked  out 
on  a  grander  scale  than  was  ever  before  attempted  or  conceived/'  .  .  .  John  D.  Black,  a  Chicago 
attorney-at-law,  lived  on  the  Ohio  River  as  a  boy  and  heard  his  father  sing  El-a-noy.  .  .  .  Shawnee 
Ferry  was  a  crossing  point  for  many  who  had  come  by  the  Ohio  river  route  or  on  Wilderness  Road 
through  Cumberland  Gap,  headed  for  Illinois  .  .  .  The  fourth  verse  is  probably  a  later  addition 
thrown  in  by  some  joker  who  felt  challenged  by  the  preceding  verses. 

Moderately,  with  blarney  Arr*  H*  F' 


'Way     down    .      up -on    the  Wa  -  bash,   Sich    land   was    nev  -  er    known; 


Ad -am    had  passed   o  -  vcr    it,     The    soil    he'd  sure  -  ly     own;  He'd  think   it   was    the 


ril. 


gar  -  den  He'd  played  in  when  a       boy,  And  straight  pro-nounce  it       E-den,    In     the 

XT\  SV\ 


=N=^=g3 


_ ,— ,    I     „„_____  _j ^ .    -  -i ^ 


EL-A-NOY 
RBFEAIX  in  time 


State   of    £1  -  a-noy.     Then  move  your  f  am  -  ily  west-  ward.Good  health  you  will    en  - 

4- 


t    f ,_ 


d^-^tozg 


"•" — "'..Trrmi 

3==3I 


r  -g; — r- 


And    rise    to  wealth  and  boil  -  or      In     the  State    of    El    -  a  -  noy. 


'Way  down  upon  the  Wabash, 

Sich  land  was  never  known; 

If  Adam  had  passed  over  it, 

The  soil  he'd  surely  own; 

He'd  think  it  was  the  garden 

He'd  played  in  when  a  boy, 

And  straight  pronounce  it  Eden, 

In  the  State  of  El-a-noy. 

Refrain: 

Then  move  your  family  westward, 
Good  health  you  will  enjoy, 
And  rise  to  wealth  and  honor 
In  the  State  of  El-a-noy. 

Twas  here  the  Queen  of  Sheba  came, 

With  Solomon  of  old, 

With  an  Ass  load  of  spices, 

Pomegranates  and  fine  gold; 

And  when  she  saw  this  lovely  land, 

Her  heart  was  filled  with  joy, 

Straightway  she  said:  "I'd  like  to  be 

A  Queen  in  El-a-noy." 

Refrain: 


3  She's  bounded  by  the  Wabash, 
The  Ohio  and  the  Iwikes, 

She's  crawfish  in  the  swampy  lands. 
The  milk-sick  and  the  shakes; 
But  those  arc  slight  diversions 
And  take  not  from  the  joy 
Of  living  in  this  garden  laud, 
The  Slate  of  El-a-noy. 
Refrain: 

4  Away  up  in  the  northward, 
Right  on  the  border  line, 

A  great  commercial  city, 

Chicago,  you  will  find. 

Her  men  are  all  like  Abelard, 

Her  women  like  Heloise; 

All  honest  virtuous  people, 

For  they  live  in  El-a-noy. 

Last  Refrain: 

Then  move  your  family  westward, 
Bring  all  your  girls  and  boys, 
And  cross  at  Shawnee  ferry 
To  the  State  of  El-a-noy. 


163 


HOOSEN  JOHNNY 

Lawyers  sat  around  the  wood  stoves  of  the  taverns  and  hotels  of  the  Eighth  Circuit  in  Illinois 
and  sang  this  on  many  a  winter  night.  Lincoln  heard  it  often.  It  was  a  favorite  of  his  singing 
friend  with  the  banjo,  Ward  Hill  Lamon.  Col.  Clark  E.  Carr,  who  came  to  Illinois  in  1852  and  was 
a  first  settler  of  Galesburg,  tells  us  in  his  book  "The  Illini"  of  these  verses,  "The  improvisor  would 
go  on  singing  as  long  as  he  could.  The  solo  is  a  sort  of  droning  chant;  but  the  chorus,  when  sung 
by  good  voices,  is  superb.  The  song  became  a  favorite  with  lawyers  traveling  the  circuit  in  those 
days,  and  was  often  «ung  on  convivial  occasions.  It  is  said  that  at  one  time,  at  Knoxville  in  our 
county,  when  some  good  news  that  caused  universal  rejoicing  had  been  received,  the  court  was 
adjourned,  and  judge,  lawyers,  jury,  spectators,  paraded  around  the  public  square  singing,  'De  ol* 
black  bull  kera  down  de  meddcr.'  It  must  l>e  remembered  that  this  was  before  the  days  of  brass 
bands  and  other  artificial  contrivances  for  giving  expression  to  tumultuous  feeling." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


DC    lit-  tic  black  bull  kern  down    de  ined-der,  Hoo-sen  John-ny,  Hoo-sen  John-ny,  De 

^ 


^  >      -  — + —  — t- —  3^^^BB>_- j 


lit  -  tie  black  bull  kem  down  dc  meddcr,    Long  time     a  -  go.  Long  time    a  -  go, 

:=t- 


(«to«.)/ 


~"    ^'^:n"     ~~~       :.  'r'r^— — ~ 


De  little  black  bull  kem  down  dc  medder,Long  time  a  -  go. 

—^r=^j^*^ 


HOOSEN  JOHNNY 


1  De  little  black  bull  kem  down  de  medder, 

Hoosen  Johnny,  Hoosen  Johnny. 
De  little  black  bull  kem  down  de  medder, 
Long  time  ago. 

Chorus: 

Long  time  ago,  long  time  ago, 
De  little  black  bull  kem  down  de  medder, 
Long  time  ago. 

£  Fust  he  paw  and  den  he  beller, 

Hoosen  Johnny,  Hoosea  Johnny. 
Fust  he  paw  and  den  he  beller, 
Long  time  ago. 


3  He  whet  his  horn  on  a  white  oak  saplin*, 

Hoosen  Johnny,  Hoosen  Johnny. 
He  whet  his  horn  on  a  white  oak  saplin', 
Long  time  ago. 

4  He  shake  his  tail,  he  jar  de  ribber, 

Hoosen  Johnny,  Hoosen  Johnny. 
He  shake  his  tail,  he  jar  de  ribber, 
Long  time  ago. 

5  He  paw  de  dirt  in  de  heifers*  faces, 

Hoosen  Johnny,  Hoosen  Johnny. 
He  paw  de  dirt  in  de  heifers'  faces, 
Long  time  ago. 


105 


MY  PRETTY  LITTLE  PINK 

A  dance  song  known  in  Kentucky,  Indiana  and  Illinois  became  a  knapsack  and  marching  tune 
with  Mexican  War  references* .  .  .  The  line  patrolled  was  about  2500  miles,  from  Santa  Fe  to  Vera 
Cruz;  young  men,  volunteers  mostly,  filled  the  ranks;  they  were  a  long  ways  from  home  and  needed 
a  quickstep  tune  with  a  don't-care  lyric.  .  .  .  The  first  verse  and  melody  are  from  Lillian  K.  Rickaby 
of  Riverside,  California,  as  she  heard  them  when  a  girl  in  Galesburg,  Illinois;  the  other  two  verses 
arc  from  Neeta  Marquis  of  Los  Angeles  as  learned  by  her  mother  in  Kentucky  in  the  late  1840's. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


m*  -\     :f»  -?-~3 

1    __n    "  i  "  i    k- 

,i          „  i     i      .-  "i           J         «r  —  i 

i~-  —}----  -H        i    r 

J                    1            1            * 

cT"           *         -J.         99 

My    prct  -  ty     lit 

V  9'"""       9         '     ~                        9          '    9        '     9 

-  tie  Pink,     I      once           did   think  That 

you     and      I     would 

.:..      -r_j-.  .n^ji  t 

,-  T""l  T~  i  1  — 

-  ,  ,  ...:l        J       *    1 

(leygiero) 

1        A 

J  ^  ^  v  —  *  —  V— 

JA  .A  —  0  — 

TTr  ^ 

,  —  ^  s  , 

L                   I 

4  S  S  — 

H|  f  —22—  

r          [ 

L       L 

r       p  ."    a           ; 

ICJt  J-rr  (--..Jri-.^.  .     1 [_.f  _  j-  -  j .pr.  _.^=^-pz}r--         ^^^.^.j^T^zr: 

5.L.!L_    r:;  ..•_.  FJ^'"-  f  """%:^— "-^^^ 
mar  -  ry,     But   now  I*ve  lost     all  hopes  of    you,  And    I    have  no    time    to      tar  -  ry 

g= 


lg£ 


^^^P 


i 


:j^±^ 


1  My  pretty  little  Pink,  I  once  did  think 
That  you  and  I  would  many. 

But  now  I've  lost  all  hopes  of  you, 
And  I  have  no  time  to  tarry. 

2  I'll  take  my  knapsack  on  my  back, 
My  rifle  on  my  shoulder, 

And  I'll  march  away  to  the  Rio  Grande, 
To  view  the  forest  over; 

8  Where  coffee  grows  on  white  oak  trees, 
And  the  river  flows  with  brandy, 
Where  the  girls  are  sweet  as  sweet  can  be 
And  the  boys  like  sugar  candy, 

166 


LINCOLN  AND  LIBERTY 

This  campaign  ditty  of  1860  has  the  brag  and  extravaganza  of  electioneering.  The  tune  is 
from  "Old  Rosin  the  Bow"  and  served  earlier  for  a  Henry  Clay  candidacy  in  which  was  the  salu- 
tation: 

So,  freemen,  come  on  to  the  rally, 
This  motto  emblazons  your  crest: 
That  lone  star  of  Hope  yet  is  shining, 
It  lightens  the  skies  in  the  West. 
Hark!  freedom  peals  far  in  her  thunder, 
Her  lightning  no  force  can  arrest, 
She  drives  the  foul  army  asunder. 
"Hail,  gallant  old  Hal  of  the  West!" 

In  a  later  year  when  Horace  Greeley  was  running  for  the  Presidency  against  Gen.  U.  S.  Grant, 
voters  were  reminded,  "Then  let  Greeley  go  to  the  dickens,  too  soon  he  has  counted  his  chickens." 


Hur-rah  for  the  choice  of  the   na-tion!          Our  chief-tain  so  brave  and  so  true;       We'll 


go      for    the  great    re -form -a  -  tion,      For   Lin- coin  and  Lib  -  er  -  ty      too.          We'll 


go    for    the  Son    of    Ken-tuck -y,      .    The    he  -  ro     of    Hoo -sicr-dom  through ;     The 


pride  of     the  Suck-ers     so  luck-y,      For      Lin- coin  and   Lib-cr-  ty      too. 


1  Hurrah  for  the  choice  of  the  nation! 
Our  chieftain  so  brave  and  so  true; 
We'll  go  for  the  great  reformation, 
For  Lincoln  and  Liberty  too. 
We'll  go  for  the  Son  of  Kentucky, 
The  hero  of  Hoosierdom  through; 
The  pride  of  the  Suckers  so  lucky, 
For  Lincoln  and  Liberty  too. 


2  They'll  find  what  by  felling  and  mauling, 
Our  rail-maker  statesman  can  do; 
For  the  people  are  everywhere  calling 
For  Lincoln  and  Liberty  too. 
Then  up  with  our  banner  so  glorious, 
The  star-spangled  red,  white  and  blue, 
We'll  fight  till  our  banner  is  victorious, 
For  Lincoln  and  Liberty  too. 


167 


OLD  ABE  LINCOLN  CAME  OUT  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 


Torchlight  processions  of  Republicans  sang  this  in  the  summer  and  fall  months  of  1800.  The 
young  Wide  Awakes  burbled  it  as  the  kerosene  dripped  on  their  blue  oilcloth  capes.  Quartets  and 
octettes  jubilated  with  it  in  packed,  smoky  halls  where  audiences  waited  for  speakers  of  the  evening. 
In  Springfield,  Illinois,  the  Tall  Man  who  was  a  candidate  for  the  presidency  of  the  nation,  heard 
his  two  boys  Tad  and  Willie,  sing  it  at  him.  The  tune  is  from  negro  spirituals,  When  I  Come  Out 
De  Wilderness  and  01'  Gray  Mare  Come  Tearin'  Out  De  Wilderness. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


Old    Abe   Lin-  coin  came  out      of    the    wil  -dcr-ness,      Out     of  the  wil  -  der-ness, 


"1 


ry""^ 


--~w:~-  ---------  «— 


out  of  the  wil-derncss,  Old  Alx*  Lincoln  cume  out  of  the  wil-dcrness, Down  in   II  -  li  -  nois. 


iirrr  -^^ 


Old  Aln;  Lincoln  came  out  of  the  wilderness, 
Out  of  the  wilderness,  out  of  the  wilderness, 
Old  Abe  Lincoln  cuine  out  of  the  wilderness, 
Down  in  Illinois. 


168 


GREAT  LAKES  AND  ERIE  CANAL 


HARMONIZATION  BT  FAOB 

THE  ERIE  CANAL Alfred  G.  IVaihall  ....  171 

BIGERLOW Leo  Sotcerby 174 

RED  IRON  ORE Henry  Franci*  Parks     .       .       .  176 

RAGING  CANAWL 178 

THE  E-RI-E 180 


100 


THE 


The  Erie  Canal,  in  its  day,  bad  dignity,  almost  majesty.  Before  railroads  came,  it  was  a  great 
man-made  transportation  link  connecting  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Great  Lakes,  a  highway  and 
common  carrier  for  an  immense  flow  of  merchandise  westbound  and  of  products  eastbound.  It 
gave  to  the  mid-west  nails,  steel,  knives,  scissors,  fabrics,  sewing  machines  in  exchange  for  pork, 
beef,  wheat,  corn.  It  was  celebrated  as  a  thing  of  use  and  public  utility.  People  were  thankful 
for  it  as  an  achievement  of  human  genius.  A  placid,  even  stream,  its  traffic  ran  quietly,  softly, 
lazily.  Navigation  was  easy.  Men  and  horses  took  their  jobs  as  monotonous,  mild  burdens.  A 
day's  travel,  a  walk,  went  with  monotonous  time-beats.  The  feel  of  this  is  in  the  best  known  Erie 
Canal  song.  I  have  heard  George  S.  Chappell  (Dr.  Traprock)  sing  it  movingly,  meditatively,  so 
that  the  Erie  Canal  took  on  the  character  of  a  symbol  of  life  as  a  highway  to  be  taken  ploddingly 
with  steady  pulse.  Railroads  may  fill  rush  orders;  not  so  canals.  To  say  that  Chappell's  perform- 
ance of  this  song  is  as  interesting  and  important  as  a  star  performer's  rendition  of  the  "Song  of  the 
Volga  Boatmen,"  might  be  a  misleading  statement.  Perhaps  when  certain  American  songs  of  vulgar 
birth  are  as  much  loved  by  American  singers  as  are  similar  Slavic  melodies  by  Russian  vocalists, 
there  may  develop  meditative  airs  and  commonplace  lyrics  with  the  significant  pauses  and  deeper 
tintings  not  given  them  now.  .  .  .  The  opening  line  here  is  sometimes,  "  I've  got  a  gal,  she's  Big  Foot 
Sal.'*  On  close  acquaintance,  one  may  find  in  the  melodic  and  lyric  statements  here  the  gravity, 
tenacity,  and  day-by-day  responsibility  that  looks  from  the  face  of  a  faithful  friendly  mule.  ...  An 
incomplete  verse  from  Dr.  T.  L.  Chapman  of  Duluth  has  the  lines: 

Drop  a  tear  for  Big  Foot  Sal, 
The  best  dam  cook  on  the  Erie  Canal. 

Moderate  con  moto  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Sal,        Fif- teen  miles   on  the  Er  -  ie  Can  -  al. 


4r~~-f» &-L.  


EfeJTZ^~;j 


rrrt-in" ~r:_- 


She's     a    good    old    work-er    and      a    good   old      pal,         Fif -teen  miles    on    the 


171 


ERIE  CANAL 


E£ 


Er   -   ie      Can   -  al.         We've    haul'd    some      barg     -     eg         in      our       day, 


ri^^ 

.  «-  _J-:  pjv-  --  -  j-^r.M^:^.,_ 

,. 


I 


I         h 
W       J 


Fill'd  with    lum  -  bcr,   coal   and   hay,  And     we  know    ev  -  'ry     inch     of   the  way  From 

-^ 
^     g: 


KMKRAIV 


-p-fr fe~  E     b i — 

4Tfe^z^fei^z^r- 


Al  -  ban  -y  to  Buf  -  fa  -   lo.     .     .        Ix>w    bridge,      ev  -  'ry- bod  -  y  down! 


____  111 

-  -~  » 


«  -  .  . 

r    r 


Low  bridge,  for  we're  go  -  ing  thro'    a  town,  And  you'll  al-ways  know  your  neigh-bor, You'll 


i 


178 


THE  ERIE  CANAL 


pocorit.  **  fit. 

+^fr^U.   3  J.     .J.  JJ.   J     ' 


al-ways  knowyourpal,    If    you  ev  -  er  nav  -  i  -  gat  -  ed  on   the   Er  -  ie    Can  -  al. 


^ 


1  I've  got  a  mule,  her  name  is  Sal, 
Fifteen  miles  on  the  Erie  Canal. 

She's  a  good  old  worker  and  a  good  old  pal, 
Fifteen  miles  on  the  Erie  Canal. 
We've  haul'd  some  barges  in  our  day, 
FilFd  with  lumber,  coal  and  hay, 
And  we  know  ev'ry  inch  of  the  way 
From  Albany  to  Buffalo. 

Refrain: 

Low  bridge,  ev'rybody  down! 
Low  bridge,  for  we're  going  through  a  town, 
And  you'll  always  know  your  neighbor, 
You'll  always  know  your  pal, 
If  you  ever  navigated  on  the  Erie  Canal. 

2  We  better  get  along  on  our  way,  old  gal 
Fifteen  miles  on  the  Erie  Canal, 

Cause  you  bet  your  life  I'd  never  part  with  Sal, 

Fifteen  miles  on  the  Erie  Canal. 

Git  up  there,  mule,  here  comes  a  lock, 

We'll  make  Rome  'bout  six  o'clock, 

One  more  trip  and  back  we'll  go 

Right  back  home  to  Buffalo. 

Refrain: 


173 


BIGERLOW 


We  learn  here  the  song  of  the  Great  Lakes  boatmen,  from  the  years  when  barges,  "timber 
drovers,"  carried  raw  products  east  and  brought  manufactured  goods  west.  It  is  lusty  and  gusty 
in  such  lines  as,  "  Give  her  the  sheet  an*  let  her  go.  We're  the  boys  to  see  her  through ! "  and  it  has 
spray  and  wind  magic  in,  "You  should  a'heard  her  howlin',  When  the  wind  was  blowin'  free!"  I 
have  this  from  Jack  Raper,  who  writes  the  colyum  in  the  Cleveland,  Ohio,  Press  under  the  moniker 
of  Josh  Wise.  He  had  served  as  marine  editor  of  the  Cleveland  Plaindealer  about  the  same  time  I 
was  marine  editor  of  the  Milwaukee  Journal.  Our  reunion  was  not  as  two  old  sea  dogs  but  as  two 
old  marine  editors.  The  piece  is  related  to  "The  Bigler,"  sung  on  the  Great  Lakes  and  among 
lumberjacks. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


'Twasone  Oc-to-  her  inorn-iri'       That  I    seen     a  wond'rous sight; 


Twos  the 


mzte^gz&E 


tini  -  bcr  drov-  er  Big  -er-low,  A  -  hail  -  in'  from  De  -trite. 


m= 


Watch  her! 


?-3r-.**s 
+  3^. 


Catch  her!  Jump  up    in  her  Ju-ju -ba-ju!        Give  her  the  sheet  an' let    her  go,We're  the 


BIGERLOW 


f  j  J  JiJ. 


r  *c  cir  JJ 


boys   to  see  her  through!    You  should  a'  heard  her  howlin'  When  the  wind  was  blow-  in* 


i 


free! 


'Twas  on  the  trip  to  Buf-fa-lo  from  Mil  -   wau    -     keel 


•fcl 


'Twos  one  October  mornin' 

That  I  seen  a  wond'rous  sight; 

'Twas  the  timber  drover  Bigerlow 

A-hailin'  from  Detrite. 

Watch  her!  Catch  her! 

Jump  up  in  her  Jujubaju! 

Give  her  the  sheet  an'  let  her  go» 

We're  the  boys  to  see  her  through! 

You  should  af  heard  her  howlin' 

When  the  wind  was  blowin'  free! 

Twas  on  the  trip  to  Buffalo  from  Milwaukee! 


i 


175 


RED  IRON  ORE 


Three  of  the  Great  Lakes  (see  any  atlas)  are  traversed  In  this  odyssey  of  red  iron  ore.  It  is  a 
log,  the  diary  of  a  ship  and  its  men  on  one  cruise.  The  facts  are  specific.  The  E.  C.  Roberts  was  a 
boat.  So  was  The  Minch.  Riding  up  Lake  Michigan,  they  passed  through  death's  door;  the  lake 
storms  were  ugly.  At  Escanaba  loading  red  ore,  they  "looked  like  red  devils."  The  crew  of  The 
Minch  thumbed  their  noses  and  taunted,  "We'll  see  you  in  Cleveland  next  Fourth  of  July."  But 
the  E.  C.  Roberts  got  there  ahead  of  the  fleet.  A  crew  of  "bold  boys"  they  were,  even  if  they  say  so 
themselves.  The  singer  is  humble,  "Now  my  song  is  ended,  I  hope  you  won't  laugh."  The  tune 
is  old  Irish;  the  repeated  line  with  each  verse,  "Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down,"  is  in  old 
ballads.  It  is  a  virile  song,  a  tale  of  grappling  with  harsh  elements  and  riding  through,  a  rattling 
tune  and  a  devil-may-care  timebeat.  It  may,  at  first,  seem  just  a  lilt  with  a  matter-of-fact  story. 
It  is  more  than  that;  it  is  a  little  drama;  the  singer  should  know  what  it  is  to  shovel  red  iron  ore; 
the  singer  should  know  the  wide  curves  of  that  ship  path  from  Chicago  to  Cleveland  on  three  Great 
Lakes  (see  any  atlas). 

Arr.  H.  P.  P. 


J 


Corne  all  you  bold  sail  -  ors  that  f ol  -  low   the  Lakes  On   an      i  -  ron   ore    ves  -  sel  your 

t^rpf^^^-f^ 


F      " 


fr— ^ — =i= 
jE^a=.?=q|)==! 


^ 


;    ..  -i    ^ 


5 


=£ 


liv  -ing      to  make.    I  shipp'd  in    Chi  -  ca  -  go,    bid     a-dieu     to    the  shore,Bound  a  - 

Hi 


way    to    Es  -  ca  -  na  -  ba    for    red     i  -  ron  ore.  Der  -ry  down,down,down  der-ry  down. 

^ 


^rf 


176 


BED  IRON  ORE 

1  Come  all  you  bold  sailors  that  follow  the  Lakes 
On  an  iron  ore  vessel  your  living  to  make. 

I  shipped  in  Chicago,  bid  adieu  to  the  shore, 
Bound  away  to  Escanaba  for  red  iron  ore. 
Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down, 

2  In  the  month  of  September,  the  seventeenth  day, 
Two  dollars  and  a  quarter  is  all  they  would  pay, 
And  on  Monday  morning  the  Bridgeport  did  take 
The  E.  C.  Roberta  out  in  the  Lake. 

Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down. 

3  The  wind  from  the  southward  sprang  up  a  fresh  breeze, 
And  away  through  Lake  Michigan  the  Roberta  did  sneeze. 
Down  through  Lake  Michigan  the  Roberta  did  roar, 
And  on  Friday  morning  we  passed  through  death's  door. 

4  This  packet  she  howled  across  the  mouth  of  Green  Bay, 
And  before  her  cutwater  she  dashed  the  white  spray. 
We  rounded  the  sand  point,  our  anchor  let  go, 

We  furled  in  our  canvas  and  the  watch  went  below. 

6  Next  morning  we  hove  alongside  the  Exile, 
And  soon  was  made  fast  to  an  iron  ore  pile, 
They  lowered  their  chutes  and  like  thunder  did  roar, 
They  spouted  into  us  that  red  iron  ore. 

6  Some  sailors  took  shovels  while  others  got  spades, 
And  some  took  wheelbarrows,  each  man  to  his  trade. 
We  looked  like  red  devils,  our  fingers  got  sore, 

We  cursed  Escanaba  and  that  damned  iron  ore. 

7  The  tug  Escanaba  she  towed  out  the  Minch, 
The  Roberts  she  thought  she  had  left  in  a  pinch, 
And  as  she  passed  by  us  she  bid  us  good-bye, 

Saying,  "We'll  meet  you  in  Cleveland  next  Fourth  of  July!" 

8  Through  Louse  Island  it  blew  a  fresh  breeze; 
We  made  the  Foxes,  the  Beavers,  the  Skillageles; 
We  flew  by  the  Minch  for  to  show  her  the  way, 

And  she  ne'er  hove  in  sight  till  we  were  off  Thunder  Bay. 

9  Across  Saginaw  Bay  the  Roberts  did  ride 

With  the  dark  and  deep  water  rolling  over  her  side. 
And  now  for  Port  Huron  the  Roberta  must  go, 
Where  the  tug  Kate  Williams  she  took  us  in  tow. 

177 


RED  IRON  QBE 

10  We  went  through  North  Passage  —  O  Lord,  how  it  blew! 
And  all  'round  the  Dummy  a  large  fleet  there  came  too. 
The  night  being  dark,  Old  Nick  it  would  scare. 

We  hove  up  next  morning  and  for  Cleveland  did  steer. 

11  Now  the  Roberts  is  in  Cleveland,  made  fast  stem  and  stern, 
And  over  the  bottle  we'll  spin  a  big  yarn. 

But  Captain  Harvey  Shannon  had  ought  to  stand  treat 
For  getting  into  Cleveland  ahead  of  the  fleet. 

1£  Now  my  song  is  ended,  I  hope  you  won't  laugh. 
Our  dunnage  is  packed  and  all  hands  are  paid  off. 
Here's  a  health  to  the  Roberts,  she's  staunch,  strong  and  true; 
Not  forgotten  the  bold  boys  that  comprise  her  crew. 
Deny  down,  down,  down  deny  down. 

RAGING  CANAWL 

America  has  no  more  genuine  folk  lore  than  is  in  the  following  recitative,  Raging  Canawl. 
It  goes  best  when  delivered  for  a  small  company  by  a  performer  who  knows  what  he  is  doing.  Drol- 
leries lurk  in  every  line.  Only  those  who  understand  the  perils  of  deep  canal  life  can  untie  the 
hawsers  of  foolery  here.  The  word  "canal"  is  to  be  pronounced  "canawl"  so  as  to  rhyme  with 
"squall." 

1  Come,  listen  to  my  story,  ye  landsmen,  one  and  all, 
And  I'll  sing  to  you  the  dangers  of  that  raging  canal; 
For  I  am  one  of  many  who  expects  a  watery  grave, 
For  I've  been  at  the  mercies  of  the  winds  and  the  waves. 

8  I  left  Albany  harbor  about  the  break  of  day, 

If  rightly  I  remember,  'twas  the  second  day  of  May; 
We  trusted  to  our  driver,  altho'  he  was  but  small, 
Yet  he  knew  all  the  windings  of  that  raging  canal. 

8  It  seemed  as  if  the  devil  had  work  in  hand  that  night. 

For  our  oil  it  was  all  gone,  and  our  lamps  they  gave  no  light; 
The  clouds  began  to  gather,  and  the  rain  began  to  fall, 
And  I  wished  myself  off  of  that  raging  canal. 

4  The  Captain  told  the  driver  to  hurry  with  all  speed, 

And  his  orders  were  obeyed,  for  he  soon  cracked  up  his  lead; 
With  the  fastest  kind  of  towing  we  allowed  by  twelve  o'clock, 
We  should  be  in  old  Schenectady,  right  bang  against  the  dock. 

5  But  sad  was  the  fate  of  our  poor  devoted  bark, 

For  the  rain  kept  a-pouring  faster,  and  the  night  it  grew  more  dark, 
The  horses  gave  a  stumble,  and  the  driver  gave  a  squall. 
And  they  tumbled  head  and  heels  into  that  raging  canal. 

178 


RAGING  CANAWL 

6  The  Captain  came  on  deck,  with  a  voice  so  clear  and  sound, 

Ciying,  "Cut  the  horses  loose,  my  boys,  or  I  swear  we'll  all  be  drowned  I9 
The  driver  paddled  to  the  shore,  altho*  he  was  but  small, 
While  the  horses  sank  to  rise  no  more  in  that  raging  canal. 

7  The  cook  she  wrung  her  bands,  and  she  came  upon  the  deck, 
Saying:  "Alas!  what  will  become  of  us,  our  boat  it  is  a  wreck?" 
The  steersman  laid  her  over,  for  he  was  a  man  of  sense, 

When  the  bowsman  jumped  ashore  he  lashed  her  to  the  fence. 

8  We  had  a  load  of  Dutch,  and  we  stowed  them  in  the  hole, 

They  were  not  the  least  concerned  about  the  welfare  of  their  soul; 

The  Captain  went  below  and  implored  them  for  to  pray, 

But  the  only  answer  he  could  get  was,  "Nix  come  rous,  nix  fis  staa." 

9  The  Captain  came  on  deck  with  a  spyglass  in  his  hand, 
But  the  night  it  was  so  dark  he  could  not  diskiver  land; 

He  said  to  us  with  a  faltering  voice,  while  tears  began  to  fall, 
"Prepare  to  meet  your  death,  my  boys,  this  night  on  the  canal/* 

10  The  cook,  she  being  kind-hearted,  she  loaned  us  an  old  dress, 
Which  we  raised  upon  a  setting  pole  as  a  signal  of  distress; 
We  agreed  with  restoration,  aboard  the  boat  to  hide, 

And  never  quit  her  deck  whilst  a  plank  hung  to  her  side. 

11  It  was  our  good  fortune  about  the  break  of  day, 

The  storm  it  did  abate,  and  a  boat  came  by  that  way; 
Our  signal  was  discovered,  and  they  hove  alongside. 
And  we  all  jumped  aboard  and  for  Buffalo  did  ride. 

12  I  landed  in  Buffalo  about  twelve  o'clock, 

The  first  place  I  went  to  was  down  to  the  dock; 

I  wanted  to  go  up  the  lake,  but  it  looked  rather  squally, 

When  along  came  Fred  Emmons  and  his  friend,  Billy  Bally. 

13  Says  Fred,  "How  do  you  do,  and  whar  have  you  been  so  long?" 
Says  I,  "For  the  last  fortnight  I've  been  on  the  canal; 

For  it  stormed  all  the  time,  and  thar  was  the  devil  to  pay. 
When  we  got  in  Tonawandy  Creek  we  thar  was  cast  away." 

14  "Now,"  says  Fred,  "Let  me  tell  you  how  to  manage  wind  and  weather, 
In  a  storm  hug  to  the  towpath,  a&4  then  lay  feather  to  feather; 

And  when  the  weather  is  bad,  and  the  wind  it  blows  a  gale, 
Just  jump  ashore,  knock  down  a  horse  —  that's  taking  in  a  sail. 

15  And  if  you  wish  to  see  both  sides  of  the  canal, 

To  steer  your  course  to  Buffalo,  and  that  right  true  and  well, 

And  it  be  so  foggy  that  you  cannot  see  the  track, 

Just  call  the  driver  aboard  and  hitch  a  lantern  on  his  back," 


THE  E-RI-E 


When  hard  work  and  the  monotony  of  life  overshadowed  the  souls  on  the  Erie  Canal,  the  crew 
did  what  so  many  sailors  and  longshoremen  ever  have  done.  They  took  to  drink  and  to  song  and 
to  hopes  for  an  end  of  the  voyage,  to  voicing  in  a  tune  their  feelings  about  how  life  used  them  up  and 
left  them  unsung  and  unwept.  The  preacher,  Koheleth,  who  sings  so  rhythmically  in  the  Book  of 
Ecclesiastes,  ''Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity/'  or  Omar  in  his  short-spoken  pessimism,  arrive  at  a 
philosophy  somewhat  like  that  sung  here.  Some  might  call  it  "realistic  in  the  method  of  approach." 
It  tries  for  laughter  at  monotony  and  fate.  We  have  this  text  and  tune  from  Robert  Wolfe  and 
Oliver  R.  Barrett  of  Chicago.  The  canal's  name  is  enunciated  in  three  syllables,  viz.,  "E-ri-e." 


J  J  J  jU.  /XT^  JJ   J   PS 


re  were  for  -  ty  miles  from  Al  -   ba  -  nyt  For  -  get    it 


nev  -  er    shall, What  a 
REFRAIN 


^ 


J     J-    JU 


W 

Oh  the 


ter  -  ri  -  ble  storm  we  had    one    night  On    the    E-ri-e       Ca  -  nal. 


J    J 


E-ri-e     was  a -ns- ing]  The  gin  was  get -ting  low  And  I  scarce -ly  think  We'll 


*=* 


^rj^J^ 


get      a  drink  Till  we  get     to   Buf  -  fa  -  lo,     .     .    Till  we    get    to    Buf  -  fa  -  lo. 

1  We  were  forty  miles  from  Albany, 
Forget  it  I  never  shall, 

What  a  terrible  storm  we  had  one  night 
On  the  E-ri-e  Canal. 

Refrain: 

Oh  the  E-ri-e  was  a-rising 
The  gin  was  getting  low 

And  I  scarcely  think 

We'll  get  a  drink 
Till  we  get  to  Buffalo, 
Till  we  get  to  Buffalo. 

2  We  were  loaded  down  with  barley, 
We  were  chuck  up  full  of  rye; 

And  the  captain  he  looked  down  at  me 
With  his  goddam  wicked  eye. 
Refrain: 

S  Oh  the  girls  are  in  the  Police  Gazette, 
The  crew  are  all  in  jail; 
I'm  the  only  living  sea  cook's  son 
That's  left  to  tell  the  tale. 
Refrain: 

180 


HOBO  SONGS 


BARMOKUATION  BT  PAQB 

SHOVELLIN'  IRON  ORB Alfred  0.  Waihatt  ....  188 

HALLELUJAH,  I'M  A  BUM! Henry  Joslyn         ....  184 

TRAMP,  TRAMP,  TRAMP,  KEEP  ON  A- TRAM  PING 185 

THE  DYING  HOGGER Alfred  0.  Waihatt  ....  186 

WANDERIN' Hazd  Fclman         ....  188 

A.  R.  u Henry  Francis  Parks    .       .       .  100 

WE  ARE  FOUR  BUMS Elizabeth  Marshall        .       .       .  19£ 


181 


SHOVELL1N'  IRON  ORE 


"I  got  a  snootful  of  it  and  I'll  never  go  back/'  a  fellow  coal  shoveler  told  me  once  in  Omaha. 
He  was  speaking  of  iron  ore,  heavier,  dirtier,  more  infiltrating  than  coal  dust.  ,  .  .  Those  who  sing 
this  usually  hook  it  up  with  We  Are  Four  Bums. 

Arr.  A,  G.  W. 

I 


J    J    J-rr? 


3 


/=£ 


Some  -  thing  hap-  pened    the     oth    -   er      day,     that    nev   -    er     hap  -  pened   be  - 

staccato 


s       X- 


f 


/ 


pocof 


£ 


i 


* 


3=3=3EES=3 


JEEVES 


fore.  A     man    tried     to     get     me          to    shov  -  el      i  -  ron    ore.          Says 


It*-- 


f^ 


^. .  ^ 

JS *_ 

hi3i 


* 


^ 


=£=3*- 


g=^ 


I,   "Old  man    now  what  will    you  pay?  "Says     he,  "Two  bits       a      ton."         Says 


-N 1~       >_      ft       IL-=* 

1        J         J-i-J1       •*   —+- 


i 


I,  "Old    man,      go     did  -  die   your -self, 


I'd  rath  -  er       bum." 


1 


^ 


•F^--^ 


&rtt 

'_^.       mF 


183 


HALLELUJAH,   I'M  A  BUM! 


This  old  song  heard  at  the  water  tanks  of  railroads  in  Kansas  in  1807  and  from  harvest  hands 
who  worked  in  the  wheat  fields  of  Pawnee  County,  was  picked  up  later  by  the  I.  W.  W.'s,  who 
made  verses  of  their  own  for  it,  and  gave  it  a  wide  fame.  The  migratory  workers  are  familiar  with 
the  Salvation  Army  missions,  and  have  adopted  the  Army  custom  of  occasionally  abandoning  all 
polite  formalities  and  striking  deep  into  the  common  things  and  ways  for  their  music  and  words. 
A  "handout"  is  food  handed  out  from  a  back  door  as  distinguished  from  "a  sit  down"  which  means 
an  entrance  into  a  house  and  a  chair  at  a  table. 

Arr.  H.  J. 
Not  too  f  Mt 


J 


•  p  ir  r  r  iL-c^ 


r 


Oh,  why  don't  you  work  Like  oth-er    men  do?   How  the  hell  can    I  work  When  there's 


f 

1 


no  work    to      do?    Hal  -  le  -  lu  -  jah,   I'm    a     bum,    Hal  -  le  -  lu  -  jah,  bum    a  - 


Pin 


gain,    Hal-le  -  lu  -  jah,  give  us      a  hand-out,  To   re  -  vive   us      a  -  gain!     gain! 

J |_ 


m 


i 


s 


^ 


3 


£ 


184 


HALLELUJAH,  I'M  A  BUM 


1  Oh,  why  don't  you  work 
Like  other  men  do? 
How  the  hell  can  I  work 
When  there's  no  work  to  do? 

Hallelujah,  I'm  a  bum, 
Hallelujah,  bum  again, 
Hallelujah,  give  us  a  handout, 
To  revive  us  again. 

2  Oh,  I  love  my  boss 
And  my  boss  loves  me, 
And  that  is  the  reason 
I'm  so  hungry, 

Hallelujah,  etc. 

3  Oh,  the  springtime  has  came 
And  I'm  just  out  of  jail, 
Without  any  money, 
Without  any  bail. 

Hallelujah,  etc. 


4  I  went  to  a  house, 

And  I  knocked  on  the  door; 
A  lady  came  out,  says, 
-  You  been  here  before." 
Hallelujah,  etc. 

5  I  went  to  a  house, 

And  I  asked  for  a  piece  of  bread; 
A  lady  came  out,  says, 
"The  baker  is  dead." 
Hallelujah,  etc. 

6  When  springtime  docs  come, 
O  won't  we  have  fun, 
We'll  throw  up  our  jobs 
And  we'll  go  on  the  bum. 

Hallelujah,  etc. 


TRAMP,   TRAMP,   TRAMP,   KEEP  ON  A-TRAMPING 

When  W.  P.  Webb  asked  two  hobos  in  the  lockup  in  Cuero,  Texas,  "Where  you  from?"  one 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "Oh,  everywhere.  We've  been  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  so 
we  can't  say  where  we're  from."  Then  came  an  afterthought,  "We  been  everywhere  looking  for 
work,  and  —  never  able  to  find  it."  In  Denver  they  had  picked  up  an  I.  W.  W.  song  to  the  tune  of 
Tramp,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  Boys  are  Marching. 

1  He  walked  up  and  down  the  street  'till  the  shoes  fell  off  his  feet, 

Across  the  street  he  spied  a  lady  cooking  stew.     And  he  said,  "  How  do  you  do, 
May  I  chop  some  wood  for  you?"  But  what  the  lady  told  him  made  him  feel  so  blue. 

Refrain: 

"Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  keep  on  a-trampin',  There  is  nothing  here  for  you; 
If  I  catch  you  round  again,  You  will  wear  the  ball  and  chain, 
Keep  a-trampin',  that's  the  best  thing  you  can  do." 

2  Across  the  street  a  sign  he  read,  "Work  for  Jesus,"  so  it  said. 

And  he  said,  "Here  is  my  chance,  I'll  surely  try."    And  he  kneeled  upon  the  floor 
Until  his  knees  got  rather  sore,  But  at  eating  time  he  heard  the  preacher  cry: 
Refrain: 

S  Down  the  street  he  met  a  cop,  And  the  copper  made  him  stop, 
And  he  said:  "When  did  you  blow  into  town?"    And  he  took  him  to  the  judge, 
But  the  judge  he  said,  "Ah  fudge!  Bums  that  have  no  money  need  not  come  around.0 
Refrain: 

185 


THE  DYING  HOGGER 


Once  on  a  newspaper  assignment  during  the  copper  mine  strike  in  the  Calumet  region,  I  spent 
an  hour  with  a  "wobbly"  who  had  been  switchman,  cowboy,  jailbird.  He  sang  this  song.  .  .  . 
"Hogger  "  is  railroad  slang  for  an  engineer  or  " boghead,"  while  a  "  tallow-pot "  is  a  fireman.  " Snake" 
and  "stinger"  are  pet  names  among  switchmen  and  brakemen,  whose  two  brotherhood  organizations 
during  a  number  of  years  have  antagonized  each  other  and  engaged  in  jurisdictional  disputes. 


8o8tenuto 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


-rt~T 


S 


A    hog  -  ger  on      his  death -bed  lay.    His  life     was  ooz  -  ing  fast      a -way;  The 

*  ~ 


^ 


PS 


5 


snakes  and  sting  -  era  round  him  pressed  To  hear    the  hog  -  ger's  last      re-  quest.  He 


fly      ^          m       ^      __j«L 

LiL"-:-1::^,,:    -;  ..  rq 
-&  p  —  &  j_  , 

\£==j-ri—  ih 

g_  r  &  —  p— 

said,  "  Be  -  fore       I 

H  1  1-  ' 
bid      a  -ixdieu,  One 

/IN 

last     re  -quest    I'll 

M-  —  1  1  '  —  ' 

make     of     you;    Be  - 
i      ^          l 

i  —  1  —  d  —  -1  —  w-i 

gL  gJ.  J  gj  ^  — 

MS!  «  &  ^  — 

-=)  J  —  =(  J  — 

-si  *  s)  |J— 

^^==^      *^ 

^=^P 

Fflr^1  1 

*^j^*~*~mmim~~m^^ 

fiS                    41                 ^r? 

fe  

hf  r  r  *P=i 

^"^ 

[  .  

i      '        i 

180 


TOE  DYING  HOGGER 


1  A  hogger  on  his  death-bed  lay. 
His  life  was  oozing  fast  away; 

The  snakes  and  stingers  round  him  pressed 
To  hear  the  hogger's  last  request. 
He  said,  "Before  I  bid  adieu, 
One  last  request  I'll  make  of  you; 
Before  I  soar  beyond  the  stars, 
Just  hook  me  on  to  ninety  cars. 

2  "A  marble  slab  I  do  not  crave; 

Just  mark  the  head  of  my  lonely  grave 
With  a  draw-bar  pointing  to  the  skies, 
Showing  the  spot  where  this  hogger  lies. 
Oh,  just  once  more  before  I'm  dead 
Let  me  stand  the  conductor  on  his  head; 
Let  me  see  him  crawl  from  under  the  wreck 
With  a  way-car  window-sash  around  his  neck. 

3  "And  you,  dear  friends,  I'll  have  to  thank, 
If  you'll  let  me  die  at  the  water-tank, 
Within  my  ears  that  old-time  sound, 

The  tallow-pot  pulling  the  tank-spout  down. 

And  when  at  last  in  the  grave  I'm  laid, 

Let  it  be  in  the  cool  of  the  water-tank  shade. 

And  put  within  my  cold,  still  hand 

A  monkey-wrench  and  the  old  oil  can.'* 


187 


WANDERIN' 

This  peculiarly  American  song  in  text  A  is  from  Arthur  Sutherland  of  Rochester,  New  York, 
as  learned  from  comrades  in  the  American  Belief  Expedition  to  the  Near  East.  It  is  a  lyric  of  tough 
days.  The  pulsation  is  gay  till  the  contemplative  pauses,  the  wishes  and  the  lingerings,  of  that  final 
line  of  each  verse,  and  the  prolonged  vocalizing  of  "1-i-k-e."  The  philosophy  is  desperate  as  the 
old  sailor  saying,  "To  work  hard,  to  live  hard,  to  die  hard,  and  then  to  go  to  hell  after  all,  would  be 
too  damned  hard."  Text  B,  also  a  lyric  of  tough  days,  is  from  Hubert  Canfield  of  Pittsford,  New 
York. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


'?E*fl4  _p  h~f^  —  f  —  r^~ 

Jp:SJ-jL4-W  &  —  U— 

=f=£^Eg=^=?= 

tfi±=S=± 

F«  —  *  *-•  J1—  1 

b  K  1  «  

My     dad  -  dy      is 

an     en  -  gin  -  eer,    My   broth  -  er  drives      a     hack,     My     • 

X^fyt4  —  =i  

V-L/       ^*                          cS' 

^r^ 

5Y4-a  1  —  1  4— 

J  ^  T-1  " 

4  4  r—  i 

®fi->-k«t—  —  4- 

_*  3  

H  » 

^=  d  —  d  

sis  -  ter  takes  in  wash-  in*  An*  the  ba  -  by  balls  the  jack,    An*    it  looks         like  .     .  I'm 


=jzr 


i 


* 


*3= 


S 


ritard. 


i 


nev  -  er      gon  -  na     cease     my      wan    - 


-  der    -    in'. 


i 


i 


ritard. 


¥ 


=  |3ir*-t* 


188 


WANDERIN* 


1  My  daddy  is  an  engineer, 
My  brother  drives  a  hack, 
My  sister  takes  in  washin* 
An'  the  baby  balls  the  jack, 
An9  it  looks  like 

I'm  never  gonna  cease  my  wanderin', 

2  I  been  a  wanderin' 
Early  and  late, 
New  York  City 

To  the  Golden  Gate, 

An'  it  looks  like 

I'm  never  gonna  cease  my  wanderin*. 

3  Been  a-workin'  in  the  army, 
Workin'  on  a  farm, 

All  I  got  to  show  for  it 

Is  the  muscle  in  my  arm, 

An*  it  looks  like 

I'm  never  gonna  cease  my  wanderin'. 

B 

1  There's  snakes  on  the  mountain, 
And  eels  in  the  sea, 
'Twas  a  red-headed  woman 
Made  a  wreck  out  of  me, 
And  it  looks  like 
I'm  never  gonna  cease  my  wanderin'. 

£  Ashes  to  ashes 
And  dust  to  dust, 
If  whiskey  don't  get  you, 
Then  the  women  must, 
And  it  looks  like 
I'm  never  gonna  cease  my  wanderin9. 


180 


A.  R.  U. 


The  American  Railway  Union  gtrike  of  1893,  led  by  Eugene  V.  Debbs,  paralyzed  traffic  on 
railways  of  the  Northwest.  As  the  concerted  stoppage  of  work  began,  not  a  wheel  moved  on  thou- 
sands of  miles  of  right-of-way;  it  was  a  terrific  tie-up,  a  red  chapter  in  American  transportation 
history.  The  railway  managers  blacklisted  A.  R.  U.  men;  strikers  drifted  to  other  railroads,  got 
jobs  under  new  names,  were  detected,  dropped  from  the  pay  rolls,  and  again  put  "on  the  hog," 
riding  hog  and  cattle  cars.  These  drifters  made  a  song  out  of  their  grief.  C.  W.  Loutzenhiser  of 
Chicago  met  a  brother  A.  R.  U.  man  in  the  Illinois  Central  switchyards  at  Macomb,  Mississippi; 
they  held  a  little  songfest;  one  song  has  verses  flinging  a  switchman's  gauntlet  into  the  face  of  Fate. 
It  is  a  gay-hearted  tune  asking  Lady  Luck,  in  plain  railroad  slang,  not  to  be  too  hard.  "Go  screw 
your  nut,"  in  rail  talk  means,  "Be  on  your  way."  Railway  lines  alluded  to  here  can  be  located  at 
any  railway  station  information  desk;  also  hotel  porters  are  ready  to  assist.  R.  W.  Gordon  gave 
me  the  verses  in  Darien,  Georgia,  and  sent  me  to  Loutzenhiser  in  Chicago  for  the  melody.  A  good 
man,  with  a  brick-dust  face  and  invincible  Irish  eyes,  is  Loutzenhiser.  In  the  course  of  our  acquaint- 
ance he  made  the  casual  remark,  "The  fellows  that  sing  the  songs  I  know  have  all  gone  where  the 
Woodbine  twineth  and  bcjeez  maybe  I  ought  to  go  too."  He  seemed  a  serene,  self-contained  soul, 
once  laughing  after  singing  a  sweet  Irish  ditty,  "I  sing  these  songs  to  keep  from  goin'  bugs." 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


r       on  *   the  Lake  Shore,     Lost     my      of  -  fice     in     the    A.     R.        U.,       And     I 
**/%  ^^  ^^ 


s 


s^ 


r 


won't    get     it    back    till     nine    -    teen     -     two.    And  I'm  still     on    the  hog  train 


A.R.  U. 


£ 


i 


flag  -ing  my  meals,  Rid-  in*   the  brake  beams          close  to     the  wheels. 


B.H. 


Been  on  the  hummer  since  ninety-four, 

Last  job  I  had  was  on  the  Lake  Shore, 

Lost  my  office  in  the  A.  R.  U. 

And  I  won't  get  it  back  till  nineteen-two 

And  I'm  still  on  the  hog  train  flagging  my  meals, 

Ridin*  the  brake  beams  close  to  the  wheels. 


191 


WE  ARE  FOUR  BUMS 


If  a  man  shall  not  work  neither  shall  he  eat.  ...  Is  that  so?  ...  A  bums'  song  .  .  .  heard 
among  glee  club  boys  and  among  persona  who  go  to  the  Barber's  College  for  a  haircut.  .  .  . 

Arr.  £.  M. 


^=^E 

I  w  r     mUL 


^ 


i 


i 


We    are    four  buins,four  jol  -  ly  good  chums, We  live   like  roy  -  al 


•ml 


i 


Turks ;    We're  ha v-  ing  good  luck,in  bum-ming  our  chuck,God  bless      the  man  that  works ! 


1  We  are  four  bums,  four  jolly  good  chums, 
We  live  like  royal  Turks; 

We're  having  good  luck,  in  bumming  our  chuck, 
God  bless  the  man  that  works! 

2  We  are  four  bums,  four  jolly  good  chums, 
We  live  like  royal  Turks; 

We're  having  good  luck,  in  bumming  our  chuck, 
To  hell  with  the  man  that  works! 


THE  BIG  BRUTAL  CITY 


THE  POOR  WORKING  GIRL       

HABUONIZATTON  BY 

Leo  S&verbg    . 

PAQR 
.        195 

ROLL  THE  CHARIOT            ....'.. 
BRADY          

.       .       Alfred  0.  WaihaU  . 

.     196 
.     198 

ON  TO  THE  MORGUE         

.     199 

IT'S  THE  8YME  THE  WHOLE  WORLD  OVER 
IN  THE  DAYS   OP  OLD  RAME8ES     .... 

.       .       Alfred  0.  WaihaU  . 

.     200 

THE  GOOD  BOY 

WILLY  THE  WEEPER 

COCAINE   LIL 

SHE  PROMISED  SHE'D  MEET  ME     . 

NO  MORE   BOOZE   (FIREMAN  SAVE  MY   CHILD) 

LYDIA   PINKHAM 


Leo  Sowerby 


Alfred  0.  WaihaU  . 
•  Sowerby    . 


203 
204 
200 
207 
208 
210 


19S 


THE  POOR  WORKING  GIRL 


This  wastrel  may  be  heard  from  the  lips  of  factory  girls  in  several  scattered  cities  of  the  Union 
of  States.  Some  sing  it  as  if  it  were  true  and  after  the  fact,  while  others  rattle  it  off  as  if  there's 
nothing  to  it  but  a  ditty  to  pass  the  time  away.  Both  may  be  correct, 

Arr.  L.  S. 

Slowly  and  mockingly  angrily 


fc 


E£ 


=£1 


p>h Jk._ K    I_I.--_ 

3=^=^:r-£££ 


The      poor    work  -   ing        girl,      May      heav  -  en       pro  -    tect      her,       She 


has     such      an      aw  -  fly    hard    time; 


The      rich    man's  daugh  -  ter     goes 


fi        -p    -    y          j  ~ 
J    S    * 


? 


i 


haugh  -  ti    -    ly        by,       My      God!     do      you     won  -  der        at      crime! 


The  poor  working  girl, 

May  heaven  protect  her, 

She  has  such  an  awfly  hard  time; 

The  rich  man's  daughter  goes  haughtily  by, 

My  God!  do  you  wonder  at  crime! 

195 


ROLL  THE  CHARIOT 


What  would  the  big  brutal  city  be  without  that  international  interdenominational  organiza- 
tion, The  Salvation  Army?  It  is  ready  to  take  any  popular  song,  any  ragtime  ditty  or  jazz  tune, 
and  tie  it  up  to  religion.  I  have  heard  converts  sing: 

"There  are  flies  on  you, 

There  are  flies  on  me, 

But  there  ain't  no  flies  on  Jesus/9 

Reading  Bramwcll  Booth's  memoirs,  we  notice  that  forty  years  ago,  and  more,  the  Army  street 
meetings  were  broken  up;  singers  of  gospel  hymns  were  pelted  with  bad  eggs  and  worse  tomatoes. 
Time  has  passed.  The  Army  is  respectable  now,  is  established,  with  million  dollar  real  estate 
holdings.  When  the  big  bass  drum  is  laid  flat  and  the  public  invited  to  throw  dimes  or  dollars  onto 
the  drum,  there  is  no  outside  interference.  They  challenge  the  Devil  and  worship  God  in  peace. 
An  old  Saturday  night  favorite  in  Fond  du  Lac,  Wisconsin,  and  Waterloo,  Iowa,  is  "The  Chariot 
Song,"  trumpeted  with  jubilee  "voices  as  the  bass  drum  invites  contributions.  I  heard  it  on  the 
public  square,  in  front  of  sample  rooms  and  saloons  on  Prairie  Street,  in  Galesburg,  on  nights  when 
"the  Q  pay  car"  had  come  in. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Con  moto  -^  -^  x  .^  -^ 


^ 


^ 


We'll         roll,       we'll    roll 


the 


char    -    i    -  ot 


a  -  long, 


We'll 


CTC3. 


roll,    we'll    roll        the      char  -    i   -  ot         a  -  long,     We'll      roll,      we'll    roll 


crej. 


J- 


i^6 


188 


BOLL  THE  CHARIOT 


1  We'll  roll,  we'll  roll  the  chariot  along, 
We'll  roll,  well  roll  the  chariot  along, 
We'll  roll,  we'll  roll  the  chariot  along, 
And  we  won't  drag  on  behind. 

2  If  the  Devil's  in  the  way  we  will  roll  it  over  him, 
If  the  Devil's  in  the  way  we  will  roll  it  over  him, 
If  the  Devil's  in  the  way  we  will  roll  it  over  him, 
And  we  won't  drag  on  behind. 

3  The  collection  will  help  us  to  roll  it  along, 
The  collection  will  help  us  to  roll  it  along, 
The  collection  will  help  us  to  roll  it  along, 
And  we  won't  drag  on  behind. 


107 


BRADY 

A  Nebraska-born  woman,  now  practicing  law  in  Chicago,  gives  us  one  verse  and  a  tune  from 
St.  Louis.  It  is  a  tale  of  wicked  people,  a  bad  man  so  bad  that  even  after  death  he  went  "strut tin' 
in  hell  with  his  Stetson  hat."  Geraldine  Smith,  attorney-at-law  in  Chicago,  heard  it  from  Omaha 
railroad  men.  It  is  text  A.  Then  from  the  B.  W.  Gordon  collection  we  have  text  B.  The  snarl 
of  the  underworld,  the  hazards  of  those  street  corners  and  alleys  "where  any  moment  may  be  your 
next,"  are  in  the  brawling  of  this  Brady  reminiscence. 


bet 


J1 


Down  in     St.  Lou-:is      at  12th  and  Carr  Big  Bill  Brad-y    was    a -tend -in'   bar; 


In  came  Duncan  with  a  star  on    his  chest,  Duncan  says  "  Brady ,youfre   un-der    ar  -  rest." 


TStL 


Brad-y  .     .    why  did -n't    you  run?   Brad-y  .     .     you  should  a  -  run!    Brad-y 


why  did -n't    you  run  When  you  seen  Black  Dun -can    with  his    gat  -  ling    gun? 


Down  in  St.  Louis  at  12th  and  Carr 

Big  Bill  Brady  was  a-tendin'  bar; 

In  came  Duncan  with  a  star  on  his  chest 

Duncan  says  "Brady,  you're  under  arrest." 

Brady  —  why  didn't  you  run? 

Brady  —  you  should  a-run! 

Brady  —  why  didn't  you  run 

When  you  seen  Black  Duncan  with  his  gatling  gun? 

B 

1  Duncan  and  his  brother  was  playing  pool 
When  Brady  came  in  acting  a  fool; 
He  shot  him  once,  he  shot  him  twice, 
Saying,  "I  don't  make  my  living  by  shooting  dice  I" 

Brady  won't  come  no  more! 
Brady  won't  come  no  more! 
Brady  won't  come  no  more! 
For  Duncan  shot  Brady  with  a  forty-four! 


198 


BRADY 

2  "Brady,  Brady,  don't  you  know  you  done  wrong 
To  come  in  my  house  when  my  game  was  going  on? 
I  told  you  half  a  dozen  times  before, 

And  now  you  lie  dead  on  my  barroom  floor!" 

3  Brady  went  to  hell  lookin*  mighty  curious, 

The  devil  says,  "Where  you  from?"  "East  St.  Louis." 
"Well,  pull  off  your  coat  and  step  this  way, 
For  I've  been  expecting  you  every  day!" 

4  When  the  girls  heard  Brady  was  dead 
They  went  up  home  and  put  on  red, 
And  came  down  town  singin'  this  song  — 
"Brady's  struttin'  in  hell  with  his  Stetson  on! 

"Brady,  where  you  at? 
Brady,  where  you  at? 
Brady,  where  you  at? 
Struttin'  in  hell  with  his  Stetson  hat!" 


ON  TO  THE   MORGUE 

We  heard  this  travesty  on  the  Chopin  funeral  march  sung  by  two  newspapermen,  one  an  Irish- 
man, the  other  an  Icelander,  in  Atlantic  City,  during  a  convention  of  the  American  Federation  of 
Labor. 


On        to      the  morgue,That's  the    on    -  ly  place    for    me.      On       to     the  morgue, 


That's      the      on    -    ly    place      for      me.        Take       it      from     the      head      one, 


J  J 


He    is    sure    a    dead  one;     On     to    the  morgue/That's  the  on  -  ly  place   for  me. 


1  On  to  the  morgue, 
That's  the  only  place  for  me. 
On  to  the  morgue, 
That's  the  only  place  for  me. 
Take  it  from  the  head  one. 
He  is  sure  a  dead  one; 
On  to  the  morgue, 
That's  the  only  place  for  me. 


Where  will  we  all  be 

One  hundred  years  from  now? 

Where  will  we  all  be 

One  hundred  years  from  now? 

Pushing  up  the  daisies, 

Pushing  up  the  daisies, 

That's  where  we'll  all  be 

One  hundred  years  from  now. 


199 


ITS  THE  SYMB  THE  WHOLE  WORLD  OVER 


This  tale  of  love's  ironic  pathways,  as  sometimes  sung  by  soldiers,  sailors,  and  travelling  men, 
carries  its  main  character  through  farther  episodes  in  other  cities.  It  was  a  favorite  in  The  Black 
Watch  and  among  Canadian  and  Anzac  contingents  during  the  World  War.  The  melody  comes 
here  from  Paul  Boston,  John  Lock  and  Bert  Massee  of  Chicago.  The  text  was  fortified  in  part  by 
H.  L.  Mencken  and  a  contributor  to  The  American  Mercury. 
„  Valae  moderate  Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


It's    the  syme     the    whole  world     o    -    ver, 


It's     the 


poor      what     gets       the        blyme,    .    .         While     the     rich       'as        all         the 


*f 


i 


1 


ply    - 


Now    ain't     that       a      blink  -  in*        shyme? 


^ 


1  It's  the  syme  the  whole  world  over, 
It's  the  poor  what  gets  the  blyme, 
While  the  rich  'as  all  the  plysures. 
Now  ain't  that  a  blinkin'  shyme? 

2  She  was  a  parson's  daughter, 
Pure,  unstyn-ed  was  her  fyme, 
Till  a  country  squire  come  courting 
And  the  poor  girl  lorst  her  nyme* 

200 


IPS  THE  SYME  TOR  WHOLE  WORLD  OVER 

8  So  she  went  aw'y  to  Lunnon, 
Just  to  'ide  her  guilty  shyme. 
There  she  met  an  Army  Chaplain: 
Ornst  ag'yn  she  lorst  her  nyme. 

4  'Ear  'im  as  he  jaws  the  Tommies, 
Warnin'  o'  the  flymes  o'  'ell. 
With  'er  'ole  'eart  she  had  trusted, 
But  ag'yn  she  lorst  her  nyrne. 

5  Now  *es  in  his  ridin'  britches, 
'Untin*  foxes  in  the  chyse 
Wile  the  wictim  o'  his  folly 
Makes  her  livin'  by  her  wice. 

6  So  she  settled  down  in  Lunnon, 
Sinkin'  deeper  in  her  shyme, 
Till  she  met  a  lybor  leader, 
And  ag'yn  she  lorst  'er  nyme. 

7  Now  'es  in  the  'Ouse  o'  Commons, 
Mykin*  laws  to  put  down  crime, 
Wile  the  wictim  of  his  ply  sure 
Walks  the  street  each  night  in  shyine. 

8  Then  there  cyme  a  bloated  bishop. 
Marriage  was  the  lyle  'e  tole. 
There  was  no  one  else  to  tyke  'er, 
So  she  sold  'er  soul  for  gold. 

9  See  'er  in  'er  'orse  and  carriage, 
Drivin'  d'ily  through  the  park. 
Though  she's  myde  a  wealthy  marriage 
Still  she  'ides  a  brykin'  'eart. 

10  In  a  cottage  down  in  Sussex 
Live's  'er  payrents  old  and  lyme, 

And  they  drink  the  wine  she  sends  them, 
But  they  never,  never,  speaks  'er  nyme. 

11  In  their  poor  and  'umble  dwellin* 
There  'er  grievin'  payrents  live, 
Drinkin'  champyne  as  she  sends  'em 
But  they  never,  never,  can  forgive. 

12  It's  the  syme  the  whole  world  over, 
It's  the  poor  what  gets  the  blyme, 
While  the  rich  'as  all  the  plysuref . 
Now  ayn't  it  a  bloody  shyme? 

201 


IN  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD  RAMESES 


In  the  years  when  Jack  the  Ripper  was  baffling  the  police  of  London  with  his  murders  of  women, 
leaving  mutilated  victims  in  the  Whitechapel  district,  there  flourished  in  Chicago  an  organization 
of  newspaper  men  known  as  the  Whitechapel  Club.  Its  rooms  fronted  on  the  alley  at  the  rear  of 
The  Chicago  Daily  News  office,  between  Fifth  Avenue  and  La  Salle  Street.  George  Ade  says  of 
the  club,  "It  was  a  little  group  of  thirsty  intellectuals  who  were  opposed  to  everything.  The  fact 
that  Jack  the  Ripper  was  their  patron  saint  will  give  a  dim  idea  of  the  hard-boiledness  of  the  organiza- 
tion. They  bad  kind  words  and  excuses  for  many  of  the  anarchists  who  had  been  hanged  for  the 
bomb-throwing  at  the  Haymarket  riot.  They  were  social  revolutionists  and  single-taxers  and  haters 
of  the  rich.  They  scoffed  at  the  conventional  and  orthodox  and  deplored  the  cheap  futility  of  their 
own  slave-tasks  as  contributors  to  the  daily  press.  They  were  young  men  enjoying  their  first  revolt." 
Ade,  James  Keelcy,  Finley  Peter  Dunne,  Brand  Whitlock,  John  T.  McCutcheon,  Ben  King,  Drury 
Underwood  and  others  were  members.  It  was  about  the  time  of  the  Chestnut  Bell,  an  attachment 
for  men's  vests;  when  a  story  that  had  been  told  many  times  before  was  narrated,  it  was  the  custom 
to  give  a  ring  or  two  on  the  bells,  signifying  that  the  hearers  had  heard  the  story  once  or  twice.  At 
the  Whitechapel  Club,  however,  instead  of  ringing  Chestnut  Bells,  they  sang  a  song.  The  verses, 
as  given  below,  arc  jointly  from  James  Keeley  arid  George  Ade  while  the  melody  is  a  Keeley  reminis- 
cence. Ade  tells  us  that  Rudyard  Kipling  remembered  his  evening  at  their  club  because,  later  on, 
he  tried  to  recall  and  write  the  words  of  the  club  song. 


In       the  days     of    old    Ram-e    -  ses,  are    you    on,     are    you  on?    They  told  the 


same   thing,     the    ve  -  ry   same  thing.      In       the  days      of    old    Ram  -  e  -  ses,     that 


•ft       ft      I         i>.  — fri~ 4=^=n 
uL'      ^     y^^zSgjrg^r^ 


sto  -   ry     had      pa  -  re  -   sis,  Are     you    on,      are    you    on,      are    you     on? 

1  In  the  days  of  old  Rameses,  are  you  on,  are  you  on? 
They  told  the  same  thing,  the  very  same  thing. 
In  the  days  of  old  Rameses,  that  story  had  paresis, 
Are  you  on,  are  you  on,  are  you  on? 

%  Adam  told  it  to  the  beast  before  the  fall,  are  you  on? 
He  told  the  same  thing,  the  very  same  thing. 
When  he  told  it  to  the  creatures,  it  possessed  redeeming  features, 
But  to  tell  it  now  requires  a  lot  of  gall. 

3  Joshua  told  it  to  the  boys  before  the  wall,  are  you  on? 
He  told  the  same  thing,  the  very  same  thing 
At  the  wall  of  Jericho  before  the  wall  began  to  fall, 
Are  you  on,  are  you  on,  are  you  on? 


IN  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD  RAMESES 

4  In  the  days  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  are  you  on? 
They  told  the  same  thing,  the  very  same  thing; 

In  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  people  told  it  to  their  sorrow, 
Are  you  on,  are  you  on,  are  you  on? 

5  In  the  days  of  ancient  Florence,  are  you  on? 
They  told  the  same  thing,  the  very  same  thing; 

In  the  days  of  ancient  Florence,  it  was  held  in  great  abhorrence, 
Are  you  on,  are  you  on,  are  you  on? 

THE   GOOD   BOY 

Lem  Parton,  a  New  York  journalist  who  farms  at  Sneeden's  Landing  up  the  Hudson,  gives 
the  following  version  of  a  highbrow  folk  song  which  has  several  variants. 


/(  bf  *                                     ^           ^ 



-) 

—  JK  ^_j  — 

N    .        .    "            N  —  ."'IN-.                  ^"""r        '^              ^ 

L^ZIJ  f  t>  JJ  JL 

•* 

'-=*  --*     |  -» 

r   ...r    T  —  ,r   j  -  :  *--- 

LtJt  ^r  ^t  —  — 

I       have      led        a 

good 

life, 

full       of      peace    and     qui   -    et, 

1 

<• 

J 

«T\             |                    [^                   1                     j 

—  F 

9                W         1 

^               jf               m            >   m    4f           .  .    . 

I       shall     have      an 

—  t  — 
old 

age 

full       of        rum   nml        ri    -    ot; 

vflrbi*            (•             i                  rP                  A                  ^  '  •             ^ 

...        ..     ..  2*  —  -tf-  - 

W—  b  £  Ir*  V  \r  '{•  £  -~£— 

r           p            m         m  •      ^ 

y|            "yt  - 

I       have     been         a     good         boy,        wed         to       peace    and    stud  -  y, 


-J      J      J JLJE=3=3=±£==$==3E==$ 


I       shall     have     an      old        age,        ri  -  bald,    coarse,  and    blood  -  y. 

1  I  have  led  a  good  life,  full  of  peace  and  quiet, 
I  shall  have  an  old  age  full  of  rum  and  riot; 
I  have  been  a  good  boy,  wed  to  peace  and  study, 
I  shall  have  an  old  age,  ribald,  coarse  and  bloody. 

£  I  have  never  cut  throats,  even  when  I  yearned  to, 
Never  sang  dirty  songs  that  my  fancy  turned  to; 
I  have  been  a  nice  boy  and  done  what  was  expected, 
I  shall  be  an  old  bum  loved  but  uurespected. 

208 


WILLY  THE  WEEPER 

R.  W.  Gordon  in  his  editorship  of  the  Adventure  magazine  department  "  Old  Songs  That 
Men  Have  Sung  "  received  thirty  versions  of  Willy  the  Weeper,  about  one  hundred  verses  different. 
Willy  shoots  craps  with  kings,  plays  poker  with  presidents,  eats  nightingale  tongues  a  queen  cooks 
for  him;  his  Monte  Carlo  winnings  come  to  a  million,  he  lights  his  pipe  with  a  hundred  dollar  bill, 
he  has  heart  affairs  with  Cleopatra,  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  and  movie  actresses. 

As  against  versions  of  this  heard  in  Detroit  and  New  York,  we  prefer  the  one  by  Henry  (Hinky) 
McCarthy  of  the  University  of  Alabama.  He  gives  it  with  pauses,  with  mellowed,  mellifluous  tones, 
with  an  insinuating  guitar  accompaniment.  The  lines  "Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,"  are  lingering" 
and  dreamy,  supposed  to  indicate  regions  where  the  alphabet  is  not  wanted. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


Did   you  cv  -  er    hear   the  sto  -  ry  'bout  Wil  -  ly,      the  Weep  -er?    Made    his 


Effg      ^         1  1— i  ~ 


PrS—-E:rrrr- 

IHT    *"~-^r'.-     „  . 
__gt ™5— —I 


=£=. 


£ 


liv  -  in'  as     a      chim-ncy  -  sweeper.   He     had     the  dope  hab  -it     an'  he  had    it     bad; 


~3 

i 


%- 


— 1-----|r-|-r-1  ~rrr:±— rta  r. 


^ 


fc 


n4=j — n4~n 


Lis- ten  while    I     tell   you 'bout  the  dream    he     had:     Teet  tee  dee    dee    dee  dee, 


J.  f  J.  Jl  J 


WILLY  THE  WEEPER 

(veryfreeli,) 


i 


toot  toodoo  doo  doo  doo,      Yah  dee  dab  dab,  dee     dee    dee,  dee    dah     dab! .    . 


1  Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  'bout  Willy  the  Weeper? 
Made  his  livin'  as  a  chimney-sweeper. 
He  had  the  dope  habit  an*  he  had  it  bad; 
Listen  while  I  tell  you  'bout  the  dream  he  had : 
Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,  toot  too  doo  doo  doo  doo, 
Yah  dee  dah  dah,  dee  dee  dee,  dee  dah  dah! 

£  He  went  down  to  the  dope  house  one  Saturday  night, 
An'  he  knew  that  the  lights  would  be  burnin'  bright. 
I  guess  he  smoked  a  dozen  pills  or  mo'; 
When  he  woke  up  he  wuz  on  a  foreign  sho* : 
Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,  toot  too  doo  doo  doo  doo,  etc. 

8  Queen  o*  Bulgaria  wuz  the  first  he  met; 
She  called  him  her  darlin*  an*  her  lovin'  pet. 
She  promised  him  a  pretty  Fohd  automobile, 
With  a  diamond  headlight  an*  a  silver  steerin'-whcel : 
Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,  toot  too  doo  doo  doo  doo,  etc. 

4  She  had  a  million  cattle,  she  had  a  million  sheep; 
She  had  a  million  vessels  on  the  ocean  deep; 

She  had  a  million  dollahs,  all  in  nickles  an'  dimes; 
She  knew  'cause  she  counted  them  a  million  times: 
Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,  toot  too  doo  doo  doo  doo,  etc. 

5  Willy  landed  in  New  York  one  evenin'  late, 
He  asked  his  sugar  baby  for  an  after-date. 
Willy  he  got  funny,  she  began  to  shout: 
Bim  bam  boo!  —  an*  the  dope  gave  out. 

Teet  tee  dee  dee  dee  dee,  toot  too  doo  doo  doo  doo,  etc. 


£05 


COCAINE  L1L 

We  do  not  know  whether  Willy  the  Weeper  and  Cocaine  LU  were  ever  introduced  to  each  other. 
But  they  travelled  the  same  route.  Illusions,  headaches,  mornings  after,  soft  fool  fantasies,  "and 
the  rest  is  silence."  Lil  was  one  of  those  who  say  "I'll  try  any  thing  once."  As  an  utterance  the 
song  of  Lil  has  as  much  validity  and  more  brevity  than  "The  Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater,"  by 
Thomas  De  Quincey.  It  is  a  document  that  rises  from  night  life  places  of  Chicago  and  Detroit. 
Besides  a  document  it  is  a  song-sketch.  "Snow"  is  slang  for  a  white  flaky  dust  sniffed  by  drug 
addicts.  Precisely  how  and  why  a  cocaine  dog  and  a  cocaine  cat  fight  all  night  with  a  cocaine  rat 
is  hard  to  explain.  They  symbolize  a  snarl. 

Air:  Willy  the  Weeper 

1  Did  you  ever  hear  about  Cocaine  Lil? 
She  lived  in  Cocaine  town  of*  Cocaine  hill, 
She  had  a  cocaine  dog  and  a  cocaine  cat, 
They  fought  all  night  with  the  cocaine  rat. 

2  She  had  cocaine  hair  on  her  cocaine  head. 

She  wore  a  snowbird  hat  and  sleigh-riding  clothes. 
She  had  a  cocaine  dress  that  was  poppy  red. 
On  her  coat  she  wore  a  crimson,  cocaine  rose. 

8  Big  gold  chariots  on  the  Milky  Way, 
Snakes  and  elephants  silver  and  gray, 
O  the  cocaine  blues  they  make  me  sad, 
O  the  cocaine  blues  make  me  feel  bad. 

4  Lil  went  to  a  "snow"  party  one  cold  night, 
And  the  way  she  "sniffed"  was  sure  a  fright. 
There  was  Ilophead  Mag  with  Dopey  Slim, 
Kankakee  Liz  with  Yen  Shee  Jim. 

6  There  was  Hasheesh  Nell  and  the  Poppy  Face  Kid, 
Climbed  up  snow  ladders  and  down  they  slid; 
There  was  Stepladder  Kit,  stood  six  feet, 
And  The  Sleighriding  Sisters  that  are  hard  to  beat. 

6  Along  in  the  morning  about  half-past  three 
They  were  all  lit  up  like  a  Christmas  tree; 
Lil  got  home  and  started  to  go  to  bed, 

Took  another  "sniff"  and  it  knocked  her  dead. 

7  They  laid  her  out  in  her  cocaine  clothes. 
She  wore  a  snowbird  hat  and  a  crimson  rose; 
On  her  headstone  you'll  find  this  refrain: 
"She  died  as  she  lived,  sniffing  cocaine." 


206 


SHE  PROMISED  SHE'D  MEET  ME 

It  is  believed  this  song  originated  in  Chicago,  the  premier  meat  packing  city  of  the  round  earth, 
the  continents  thereof,  and  the  archipelagoes  of  the  seven  seas.  However,  it  is  also  sung  in  Omaha, 
Cincinnati!,  New  York  and  San  Francisco,  as  of  local  origin.  In  time  seven  cities  may  claim  its 
author,  though  it  is  Aristophanic  rather  than  Homeric  in  style.  The  second  verse  is  more  vulgar 
than  the  first.  Both  are  sung  with  gusto  at  all  our  best  universities.  Footballs  are  made  of  pig- 
skin. In  Cincinnati,  once  nicknamed  Porkopolis,  we  heard  that  the  song  "is  best  rendered  when 
rendering  lard  or  skinning  a  beef." 


Quickly 


She  prom-ised    she'd  meet    me      As   the  clock  struck  sev   -  en  -  teen,    At      the 


L-t_JLj^ 


stock-yards  just    nine  miles  out      of    town;  Where  there's  pigs' tails  and  pigs' ears,    And 


tough  old    Tex  -  as    steers    Sell     for    sir  -  loin  steak   at     nine  -  ty    rents     a    }>omul. 


She  promised  she'd  meet  me 
As  the  clock  struck  seventeen, 

At  the  stockyards  just  nine  miles  out  of  town; 
Where  there's  pigs*  tails  and  pigs'  ears, 
And  tough  old  Texas  steers 

Sell  for  sirloin  steak  at  ninety  cents  a  pound. 


She's  my  darlin',  my  daisy, 
She's  humpbacked,  she's  crazy, 

She's  knock-kneed,  bow-legged,  and  lame  — 
(Spoken:  Got  the  rheumatism!) 
They  say  her  breath  is  sweet, 
But  I'd  rather  smell  her  feet, 

She's  my  freckle-faced,  consumptive  Mary  Jane* 


207 


NO  MORE  BOOZE  (FIREMAN  SAVE  MY  CHILD) 


The  phrase  "rush  the  growler"  here  refers  to  any  receptacle  such  as  a  pitcher,  a  pail,  a  bucket, 
or  a  tin  can,  in  which  draught  beer  was  carried  from  the  bar  of  a  saloon  to  adjacent  premises  by 
consumers  or  agents  of  consumers.  .  .  .  About  the  time  this  song  arose  there  were  mainly  three 
kinds  of  saloons  in  the  United  States:  (1)  saloons  in  bone-dry  territory  with  the  doors  locked  and  a 
For  Sale  sign  in  front;  (2)  saloons  where  the  doors  never  closed  seven  days  in  the  week;  (3)  saloons 
where  the  doors  closed  only  on  Sundays.  .  .  .  The  period  was  one  provocative  of  vulgar  proverbs, 
such  as,  "The  coat  arid  the  pants  do  all  the  work  but  the  vest  gets  all  the  gravy." 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


There  was     a    lit  -  tie  man  and    he  had      a     lit  -  tie  can,  And    he  used     to  rush    the 


j  * j  <*  n     M  M 

j  ^    -    '  _j    ~  _  _         j,.^.. ._  ._- y~~    ~ ~^ 

•1         _  ""   "m         'ILJ  a  "~7".r^~-~      ~J~~~a~~~'.,    .'.  '."*"._- 

j..  .j.—  j__          ^- 

»n/ 

^^Elp;i^?££^^^2 

growl  -  cr;        He   went    to    the      sa-loon     on      a      Sun -day   af  -  tcr-noon,  And    you 

|__^.  ==^^^-.-^-f=^== 

•  • 

~fs—~_ — -=^=F^7      ^=^—  rarrr— JIT z=: 

:r^=r^==r & -^&_ -==Jf=^  = 


CHORUS 


j^:EEg^^Ej^E^-^:t!^feg:g^EJF|:;^g^ 
ought  to  heard  the  bar  -  ten  -  der  hoi  -  ler:  No  more  booze,  no  more  booze, 


NO  MORE  BOOZE 


no  more  booze  on  Sun-day ;         No  more  booze,       no  more  booze,  Got  to  get  your  can  filled 


— f — mmrm  -prr  i 
pJLf----rdfer  ¥  - 

1 —4— 1 J 


Mon  -  day.  She's  the  on  -  ly    girl       I        love,     .     .     .     With  a     face  like     a  horse  and 


*4— „___. — « ...  -—  ^  — A. .  . 

^-]  £.  p  i  ,£..:f  J 


I^ean-ing  up    a-gainst  the  lake,     O      fire-man!  save  my    child! 


1  There  was  a  little  man  and  he  had  a  little  can, 
And  he  used  to  rush  the  growler; 
He  went  to  the  saloon  on  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
And  you  ought  to  heard  the  bartender  holler: 

Chorus: 

No  more  booze,  no  more  booze, 
No  more  booze  on  Sunday; 
No  more  booze,  no  more  booze, 
Got  to  get  your  can  filled  Monday. 


She's  the  only  girl  I  love, 

With  a  face  like  a  horse  and  buggy. 

Leaning  up  against  the  lake, 

O  fireman!  save  my  child! 

The  chambermaid  en  me  to  my  door, 

"Get  up,  you  lazy  sinner, 

We  need  those  sheets  for  table-cloths 

And  it's  almost  time  for  dinner." 

Chorus: 


209 


LYDIA  PINKHAM 

Only  two  of  the  many  verses  of  this  song  are  presented  here.    As  a  satire  the  piece  hu  its  points 
and  touches  more  than  the  surface  of  current  life,  manners  and  morals. 


Then       we'll       sing     .     .        of       Ly  -    di     -    a       Pink   -    ham,          And         her 

, | i '       j j .._J 

-  r~3^>^d fr—  ±™-_J:^_V^-:^== 

]~E&^*E^*^ 


IV^i 


*  "  '  I 

— —  -  —  —         t 

L -flf'V 

"•" 


love     .     .    for  the    hu   -  man  race; 


How     she       sold  .     .     her  veg  -  'ta  -  ble 


_„,     '       .,"1.  __ __^ '"^       — p»  fc  _«^       r 

:^=h=pE=r=fefefer-^E^ 


coin     -    pound     And       the        pa 


pers     pub-lish'd    her      face. 


1  Then  we'll  sing  of  Lydia  Pinkham, 
And  her  love  for  the  human  race; 
How  she  sold  her  vegetable  compound 
And  the  papers  published  her  face. 

2  Oh,  it  sells  for  a  dollar  a  bottle 
Which  is  very  cheap  you  see, 
And  if  it  doesn't  cure  you 
She  will  sell  you  six  for  three. 


PRISON  AND  JAIL  SONGS 


HARMONIZATION  BT  PAGE 

BIKD   IN  A  CAGE 213 

YONDER  COMES  THE  HIGH  SHERIFF 213 

PORTLAND  COUNTY  JAIL Leo  Sottwfrj/ 214 

MOONLIGHT   (THE   PRISONER'S  SONG) 216 

MIDNIGHT  SPECIAL   (2) 217 

SEVEN  LONG  YEARS  IN  STATE  PRISON        ....       Alfred  0.  Waihall  ....  218 

WHEN  I  WAS  YOUNG  AND  FOOLISH Alfred  G.  Watliall  .       .       .       .  219 

BEEN  IN  THE  PEN  SO  LONG Alfred  G.  WaAall   ....  220 

THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  SLAVE 222 


BIRD  IN   A  CAGE 


In  the  mountains  of  Kentucky  there  was  sung  an  old  lyric  of  English  origin,  Down  In  The 
Valley.  And  there  were  jail-birds  in  Lexington,  Kentucky,  who  built  and  wove  from  this  older 
song  with  lines  telling  their  sweethearts  where  to  send  letters.  .  .  .  Charles  Hoening,  working  with 
a  threshing  crew  near  Lexington,  heard  four  negroes,  harvest  hands,  go  off  by  themselves  after  supper, 
among  strawstacks  to  sing.  The  gloaming  crept  on,  an  evening  star  came,  a  rising  moon  climbed 
the  horizon  dusk  and  mist.  "They  sang  that  song  over  and  over  and  they  knew  how  to  sing  it." 


=3=; 


in     a  cage,  love,  Bird  in 
Bird  in  a  cage,  love, 
Bird  in  a  cage, 
Waiting  for  Willie 
To  come  back  to  me. 


-:£L;;T 


a  cage,  Wait-ing  for  Wil  -  lie     to  come  back  to    me. 

3  Write  me  a  letter, 
Write  it  today. 
Stamp  it  tomorrow, 
Send  it  away. 

4  Write  rne  a  letter, 
Send  it  by  mail. 
Send  and  direct  it 
To  Lexington  jail. 

5  Bird  in  a  cage,  love, 
Bird  in  a  cage, 
Waiting  for  Willie 
To  come  back  to  me. 

YONDER  COMES  THE  HIGH  SHERIFF 

To  the  time-beats  of  galloping  hoofs,  the  stride  of  horse  and  rider,  convicts  of  the  Kentucky 
penitentiary  at  Frankfort  have  made  a  song. 


Roses  arc  red,  love, 
Violets  are  blue. 
God  in  heaven 
Knows  I  love  you. 


on    -  der     comes      the     high 


Rid  -in'   aft  -  er    me,     yes,  rid  -  in*  aft  -  cr    inc.     Yon  -dcr  comes  the  high    .slier  -  iff 


rid  - 


n 


aft  - 


*--T~33^m 

er     me,          O       it's     cap  -  tain,    I      don't  want         to        go. 


1  Yonder  comes  the  high  sheriff  ridin'  after  me, 
Ridin'  after  me,  yes,  ridin'  after  me. 
Yonder  comes  the  high  sheriff  ridin'  after  me, 
O  it's  captain,  I  don't  want  to  go. 

2  Been  down  to  Frankfort  servin'  out  my  time, 
Servin*  out  my  time,  yes,  servin'  out  my  time. 
Been  down  to  Frankfort  servin'  out  my  time, 
O  it's  captain,  I  don't  want  to  go. 

£13 


PORTLAND  COUNTY  JAIL 


A  Chicago  newspaperman  who  happened  to  do  in  real  life  what  Paddy  Flynn  does  in  this  song, 
got  ten  days,  as  Paddy  Flynn  did,  in  the  Portland  County  jail.  While  recovering  from  his  bootleg 
headache,  he  learned  the  first  three  verses  of  a  song  there.  For  the  fourth,  we  are  indebted  to 
philosophers  at  the  extreme  left  in  the  labor  movement  and  in  modernist  art  in  Chicago.  Whether 
sung  solo  or  in  ensemble  or  melee,  the  ungrammatical  "A"  in  the  last  line  is  to  be  howled  with  high 
scorn.  The  word  "trun"  means  "threw"  or  "throwed";  it  rhymes  with  fun.  A  "can"  signifies 
a  jail  or  place  of  forcible  detention. 

Arr.  L.  S. 
Fairly  fast 


I'm       a     stran  -  ger      in     your    cit    -  y,          my    name     is     Pad  -  dy   Flynn. 


; .  --p— -J— •  --"7T-          |_i 

J&.   .    .        \~  *y*~         "  ""."-""        -.C~*fg 


^:r-[S":>-r:~^^^  fc—  fc  I     '!*          fr         h       -ft-f^J1    ^    M     ^= 

Jrrllf"^""*1-!:"-"^11  *'-H:*-T~-*r— ^^ +-=, -^^J    [-iE   ^    ^    J 

I      tfot  drunk    the     oth  -  er    night   and     the    cop  -  pers     run     me       in.  I 


had          no     nion-ey     to      pay     my     fine,    no      one      to       go      my     bail;  So 


^ 


~v- — lv- — ^        —     — i^- — 

LJL_r      r  n  r  n 


3 


^ 


PORTLAND  COUNTY  JAIL 


I    got  stuck  for      nine- ty  days  in  the  Port-land  County  jail.    .    . 


1  I'm  a  stranger  in  your  city,  my  name  is  Paddy  Flynn. 
I  got  drunk  the  other  night  and  the  coppers  run  me  in. 
I  had  no  money  to  pay  my  fine,  no  one  to  go  my  bail; 
So  I  got  stuck  for  ninety  days  in  the  Portland  County  jail. 

£  Oh,  the  only  friend  that  I  had  left  was  Happy  Sailor  Jack; 
He  told  me  all  the  lies  he  knew,  and  all  the  safes  he'd  cracked; 
He'd  cracked  them  in  Seattle,  he'd  robbed  the  Western  Mail. 
Twould  freeze  the  blood  of  an  honest  man  in  the  Portland  County  jail. 

3  Oh,  such  a  bunch  of  devils  no  one  ever  saw, 
Robbers,  thieves  and  highwaymen,  breakers  of  the  law; 

They  sang  a  song  the  whole  night  long,  the  curses  fell  like  hail; 

I'll  bless  the  day  that 'takes  me  away  from  the  Portland  County  jail. 

4  Finest  friend  I  ever  had  was  Officer  McGurk. 
He  said  I  was  a  lazy  bum,  a  no-good  and  a  shirk. 

One  Saturday  night  when  I  got  tight,  he  trun  me  in  the  can, 
And  now  you  see  he's  made  of  me  A  honest  workingman. 


MOONLIGHT 


Meet  me  by  moon-light  alone, 

And  then  I  will  tell  you  a  tale, 

Must  be  told  by  the  moon-light  alone, 

In  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  vale; 

You  must  promise  to  come,  for  I  said 

I  would  show  the  night-flowers  their  queen, 

Nay  turn  not  away  that  sweet  head! 

"Tis  the  loveliest  ever  was  seen  ! 

Oh!  meet  me  by  moonlight  alone, 

Meet  me  by  moonlight  alone! 

The  verse  above  is  one  of  several  in  the  popular  song  of  many  years  ago,  Meet  Me  by  Moon- 
light. As  it  reached  the  Tennessee  and  Kentucky  mountains  and  lived  on  there,  the  mountain 
people  made  adaptations  till  they  had  changed  it  into  their  own  song  and  something  else  again.  .  .  . 
See,  in  this  connection,  the  note  to  The  Ship  That  Never  Returned,  in  this  book.  .  .  .  The 
mountain  lyrists  who  composed  the  verses  to  "Moonlight,"  as  here  given,  eventually  won  an  im- 
mense audience;  desperate  opera  stars,  hunting  a  composition  that  had  a  sure  hold  on  American 
heart  strings,  put  on  its  modern  derivative,  The  Prisoner's  Song,  in  their  "popular  performances," 
as  the  phrase  goes.  .  .  .  The  tune  here  is  from  Gilbert  R.  Combs  and  the  text  includes  verses  from 
Combs  and  from  Mary  Leaphart.  ...  In  singing  the  refrain  may  or  may  not  be  used  with  al) 
stanzas. 


Moderate 


Meet 


me 


to   -    niglit,       lov     -     er,         meet 


me, 


O 


meet       me     in  the  moon-  light        a    -  lone, 


I      have      a      sad     sto   -   ry      to 


tell        you, 


Must     be    told    in       the  moon  -  light      a    -    lone. 


1  Meet  me  to-night,  lover,  meet  me, 

0  meet  me  in  the  moonlight  alone, 

1  have  a  sad  story  to  tell  you, 
Must  be  told  in  the  moonlight  alone. 


The  first  vvrtttt  nervts  as  It* f rain. 


%  I'm  going  to  a  new  jail  to-morrow, 
And  leave  my  poor  darlin*  alone, 
With  the  cold  prison  bars  all  around  me, 
And  my  head  on  a  pillow  of  stone. 

3  Your  father  and  mother  don't  like  me, 
Or  they  never  would  have  drove  me  from  their 

door; 

If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over 
I  would  never  go  there  any  more* 


S16 


MOONLIGHT 


4  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born 
Or  had  died  when  I  was  young. 

I  would  never  have  saw  your  sweet  face 
Or  heard  your  lyin'  tongue. 

5  If  I  had  a- minded  my  mother 
I  had  been  with  her  today, 
But  I  was  young  and  foolish 
And  you  stole  my  heart  away. 


0  I  have  three  ships  on  the  ocean 
All  laden  with  silver  and  gold; 
And  before  my  darlin*  should  suffer 
I'd  have  them  all  anchored  and  sold. 

7  If  I  had  the  wings  of  an  eagle 
Across  the  wide  sea  I  would  fly. 
I  would  fly  to  the  arms  of  my  darling 
And  there  I  would  stay  till  I  die. 


MIDNIGHT   SPECIAL.     (2) 

A  fast  train,  such  as  "The  Midnight  Special,"  means  a  getaway,  outside  air,  freedom.  Thcj 
sing  about  it  in  the  Houston,  Texas,  jailhouse,  and  elsewhere.  The  verses  here  can  with  little  o1 
no  practice  be  adjusted  to  the  tune  of  Midnight  Special  (1)  in  our  folio  of  Dramas  and  Portraits. 


1  If  you  evah  go  to  Houston, 
You  better  walk  right; 
You  better  not  gamble 
And  you  better  not  fight. 
T.  Bentlcy  will  arrest  you, 
He'll  surely  take  you  down; 
Judge  Nelson'll  sentence  you, 
Then  you're  jailhouse  bound. 

Refrain: 

O  let  the  Midnight  Special 
Shine  a  light  on  me, 
Let  the  Midnight  Special 
Shine  a  evah  lovin'  light  on  me! 

2  Every  Monday  mawnin', 
When  the  ding-dong  rings, 


You  go  to  the  table, 
See  the  same  damn  things; 
And  on  the  table, 
There's  a  knife  an*  pan, 
Say  anything  about  it, 
Have  trouble  with  a  man. 


3  Yondah  come  Miss  Rosy; 
Oh,  how  do  you  know? 
By  th'  umbrella  on  her  shoulder 
An*  the  dress  that  she  woah! 
Straw  hat  on  her  head, 
Piece  of  paper  in  her  hand, 
Says,  "Look  here,  Mr.  Jailer, 
I  want's  my  life-time  man.0 


£17 


SEVEN  LONG  YEARS  IN  STATE  PRISON 


A  convict  tells  what  life  has  done  to  him.  .  .  .  During  the  international  imbroglio  known  as 
the  Spanish-American  War,  I  heard  half  of  this  song  from  a  high  private  in  the  rear  ranks;  we  went 
to  Porto  Rico  and  the  oftener  it  rained  between  Guanica  and  Utuado,  and  the  worse  the  mud  and 
the  higher  the  water  in  the  pup  tents  at  Adjuntas,  the  more  Private  Campbell  sang  "Sad,  sad 
and  lonely."  .  .  .  The  other  half  of  the  song  came  to  me  at  Denison  College,  Ohio,  twenty-seven 
years  later. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Moderate 


_^-^jJ=j==y==g 

4F"     "~~  ""  '   ~ 


3 


Sev  -  en  long  years   in  state  pri  -  son, 


Sev  -  en  long  years  for     to  stay,      For 


=#*-* 


knock  -ing      a  man  down  the    al  -  ley      And  tak  -ing  his  gold  watch  and  chain. 


CHORUS 


Sad, 


sad  and  lone     -    ly ,  sit  *  ting     in  my  cell    All  a  -  lone,        all  a  -  lone, 


SEVEN  LONG  YEARS;  IN  STATE  PRISON 


Think-ing   of   days  that's  gone  by  me,       And    Uie  days  when  I've  done  wrong. 


I  used  to  have  a  brother  and  a  sister, 
Who  lived  in  a  cottage  o'er  the  sea. 
I  used  to  have  a  father  and  mother, 
But  they  are  all  gone  from  me. 


3  I  wish  I  had  (he  wings  of  a  sjwirrow. 
I  wish  I  had  wings  for  to  fly. 
I'd  fly  to  the  side  of  my  mother 
And  there  let  me  lay  down  and  die. 


WHEN  I  WAS  YOUNG  AND  FOOLISH 

There  are  sailor  and  lumberjack,  railroad  and  cowboy  versions  of  this.  New  York,  Atlanta, 
and  Seattle  have  local  variants.  It  is  sung  in  jails  and  outside.  The  tune  is  from  Albert  Richard 
Wetjen,  of  Salem,  Oregon,  able  seaman  and  story  teller. 

Air.  A.  G.  W. 

_  Moderate 


[^-,...1-4- 

~f 

~3~    V 

f  •  —•  —  •-••--*- 

L       1                               J         >* 

p[  :1  -J----  J' 

dc  -light, 

-f-TI-fz 

-••  i^i 

5>  _^ 

When    I 

^  JT¥    vi             ^ 

was 

young  and 

*  • 

fool  -  ish,          I 

r  _._~:i  "     '        . 

used     to      take 

r.  .   _ 

^   n  ^                ^    ~ 

To 

-J:J  k^f  -":•"":] 

mt|5  *       * 
m/ 

~£ 

7 

"    ""-jr 

!_'  

-T-*  ---V—---. 
T 

.::|    l^J 

*&" 

3  -.*..?&  .     _q 

™~^^"  ^ 

B&TS—  -rH 

L-'ll/     *                  C*S 

IZIZT 

-f  .   _- 

M-  —  - 

:if  :~.  .-J  :.: 

:-"-ir-- 

-        .           .          M        J 

balls    and    dan   -  ces, 


His  shoes  were  neatly  polished, 
His  hair  was  neatly  combed, 

And  when  the  dance  was  over, 
He  asked  to  see  me  home. 


3  As  we  walked  home  together, 

I  heard  the  people  say, 
"  There  goes  another  girlie, 
That's  being  led  astray." 


BEEN   IN  THE  PEN  SO  LONG 


Three  musketeers,  regular  army  men  en  route  to  a  fort  in  Texas,  learned  this  in  jail  in  Oklahoma. 
They  "blued"  it  in  unison,  with  harmonics,  with  a  chromatic  harmonica.  They  made  a  Santa  Fe 
smoking  car  melodious.  ...  A  white  man's  rearrangement  of  a  negro  wail  such  as  one  recorded  in 
a  publication  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 
Lugubre,  rubato  molto 


E|EEgE^ 


EE^E 


Been     in     the  pen     so     long. 


O      bon  -  ey,    I'll     be    long    gone, 


long, 


O       hon  -  ey,     I'll     be       long     gone. 


cres. 


i 


^ 


=£=*££ 


220 


BEEN  IN  THE  PEN  90  LONG 


|  Jijj^-^  J— 

j*  r  j  —  >  j 

Been 

-^^        ^  ^    i>j"   j    j--j"  j.  j- 

in  the  pen     so  long,  Lawd,    I      got     to     go        a  - 

gain. 

/^tv 

A     u 

V  ,  D 

, 

"JK  U  i,         ^-3 

1 

|7fv"  I?        55 

-  ,  .                ......... 

"  "  ""    *  -  ""  "               ""' 

»ff 


tf 


Been     in    the  pen      so      long, 


O      hon-ey,    I'll     be     long  gone. 


"teK,"  ~ji IT _l_ 1 


T- 


0 


i 


Been  in  the  pen  so  long, 

0  honey,  I'll  be  long  gone, 
Been  in  the  pen,  Lawd, 

1  got  to  go  again. 
Been  in  the  pen  so  long, 
0  honey,  I'll  be  long  gone. 
Been  in  the  pen  so  long, 
Lawd,  I  got  to  go  again. 
Been  in  the  pen  so  long, 

O  honey,  I'll  be  long  gone. 


221 


THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  SLAVE 

When  Joe  Hill,  the  I.  W.  W.  man,  had  the  death  sentence  executed  on  him  in  Utah  while  the 
World  War  wa*  on,  big  logs  was  mourned  by  the  members  of  his  organization.  He  waa  their  star 
song  writer  and  is  the  only  outstanding  producer  of  lyrics  widely  sung  in  the  militant  cohorts  of  the 
labor  movement  of  America.  Jails  and  jungles  from  the  Lawrence,  Massachusetts,  woolen  mills 
to  the  Wheatlaud,  California,  hop  fields,  have  heard  the  rhymes  and  melodies  started  by  Joe  HUL 
One  of  them  is  The  Preacher  and  the  Slave,  going  to  the  tune  of  Sweet  By  and  By. 


Long-haired  preachers  come  out     ev  - 'ry  night,  Try    to      tell  you  what's  wrong  and  what's 


right;  But  when  asked  how  'bout  something  to    eat  They  will  an-swer  with  voic  -  es   so  sweet: 

HKFKAIM 

=db=d^)N 


You    will      eat,     bye   and    bye,      In    that    glo  -  ri  -  ous  land   a-bove  the     sky; 


Work  and    pray,     live     on      hay,    You'll  get      pie       in     the     sky     when  you     die. 

1  Long-haired  preachers  come  out  every  night,  Try  to  tell  you  what's  wrong  and  what's  right; 
But  when  asked  how  'bout  something  to  eat  They  will  answer  with  voices  so  sweet: 

Refrain: 

You  will  eat,  bye  and  bye,  In  that  glorious  land  above  the  sky; 
Work  and  pray,  live  on  hay,  You'll  get  pie  in  the  sky  when  you  die. 

2  And  the  starvation  army  they  play,  And  they  sing  and  they  clap  and  they  pray. 

Till  they  get  all  your  coin  on  the  drum,  Then  they'll  tell  you  when  you're  on  the  bum: 

3  Holy  Rollers  and  jumpers  come  out,  And  they  holler,  they  jump  and  they  shout: 
"Give  your  money  to  Jesus,"  they  say,  "He  will  cure  all  diseases  today." 

4  If  you  fight  hard  for  children  and  wife  —  Try  to  get  something  good  in  this  life  — 
You're  a  sinner  and  bad  man,  they  tell,  When  you  die  you  will  sure  go  to  hell. 

5  Workingmen  of  all  countries,  unite,  Side  by  side  we  for  freedom  will  fight: 

When  the  world  and  its  wealth  we  have  gained,  To  the  grafters  we'll  sing  this  refrain: 

Last  Refrain: 

You  will  eat,  bye  and  bye,  When  you've  learned  how  to  cook  and  to  fry; 
Chop  some  wood,  'twill  do  you  good,  And  youll  eat  in  the  sweet  bye  and  bye. 


BLUES,  MELLOWS,  BALLETS 


LEVEE  MOAN 

THOSE  GAMBLER'S  BLUES 

GOT  DEM   BLUES 

DE  BLUES   AIN*  NOTHIN* 

WHEN  A    WOMAN   BLUK 

coo-coo  (PEACOCK  SONG) 

GREAT  GAWD,  I'M  FEELJN*  BAD  .... 
O  MY  HONEY,  TAKE  ME  BACK  .... 
WHAT  KIN*  O'  PANTS  DOES  THE  GAMBLER  WEAR 

JOE  TURNER   

TIMES  GETTIN'  HARD,  BOYS 

I'M   SAD   AND   I'M   LONELY 

C.  C.  RIDER 

YOU   FIGHT   ON 

SATAN'S  A  LIAH 

BALLET  OF  DE  BOLL  WEEVIL       .... 

DE   TITANIC 


BAJtMONlIATION  BT 

Leo  Soirerby    . 
Ruth  Crawford 
Henry  Francis  Parks 
Leo  Sotrerby    . 
Leo  Soirerby    . 
Thonald  Ottcrstrom 
Alfred  (I  Wathall  . 
Alfred  (/.  Wathall  . 

Alfred  G.  Walhall  . 
Leo  fioircrln/    . 
Leo  fiowerby    . 
Edward  Collins 
Elizabeth  Marshall 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 
Leo  Sowerby    . 


PAGB 


£36 


238 
230 
240 
241 
242 
243 
246 
248 
250 
252 
254 


228 


I  dare  hint  delicately  that  while  it  is  possible  that  neither  the  vocalist  nor  I  might  derive  joy 
from  singing  as  singing,  yet  as  a  folk-lorist  I  should  experience  delight  at  hearing  a  folk  song  put 
across  in  such  a  way  that  I  could  capture  it.  I  urge  that  as  a  song  hunter  I  should  rather  hear  a 
Negro  in  the  cornfield  or  on  the  levee  or  in  a  tobacco  factory,  than  to  hear  Galli-Curci  grand-operize. 

DOROTHY  SCARBOROUGH  in  On  the  Trail  of  Negro  Folk-Song*. 


LEVEE  MOAN 

Both  Mississippi  and  Ohio  river  levees  have  had  versions  of  this  one,  which  reached  up  into  the 
region  roundabout  Pendleton,  Indiana,  where  it  was  heard  by  Lloyd  Lewis,  the  Free  Quaker  pegged 
elsewhere  in  this  book.  A  sonorous  lament,  is  " Levee  Moan.*'  fully  equal  to  many  Gregorian 
chants  that  could  be  named.  Some  of  its  lines  assuage  the  bitterness  of  our  short  mortal  pilgrimage, 
some  have  an  overtone  aiming  at  the  world  beyond  the  flesh,  while  others  are  rooted  amid  such  plain 
realities  as  the  iron  pathway  of  "dat  ol'  K.  C.  line." 

Quite  slow  Arr.  L.  S. 


i U 


-J — ^- 

-m ' 


SEE 


Ah'm    go  -  in*    whah    no  -  bod  -  y    knows  my      name,     Lawd.Lawd.I^awdLawd!  Ah'm 


m >- ."".  i .- .   "---,  -""~[  ""  s     rrr  - j       ""1 


_ 

-T 


go  -  in*  whah   no  -  bod  -  y    knows  mah     name,     .     .     . 


.  T.  :J-: 
Ah'm   go  -  in*  whah    no  - 


bod-y    knows  mah  name  !  Ah'm   go  -  in*  whar  dcy  don't  shov  -  el     no       snow,  Ijiwd,Lawd, 


"&.      +.         ZZ. 

*    *     **£ 


LEVEE  MOAN 


3 


3SE3ES 


E 


Lawd,  Lawd!  Ah'm  go  -  in*  whah  dey  don't  shov -el      no      snow, 


Ah'm 


[.£.-=7**. 

\& — z 


2B 


-*L- 


^"^i"^£flSs^S 


go  -  in*  whah  dey  don't  shov-  cl     no       snow!    Ah'm  go  -  in*  whah   de    chill -y     wind  don't 


-JT 


F 


I 


& 
-  &*-^_ 


-^r- 
•%•- 


Tlrj~t- 

••-|-1--'ia' 
>»     * 


blow,        Liwd,  Ijiwd.Ijiwd.Lawd!  Ah'm      go  -  in'  whah     de      chill  -  y     wind  don't 

E^^^Pi^^ 


LEVEE  MOAN 


It 


^-rq^rrtrt^r-- 

z^.-*!T3ziafe 


blow,     .     .     . 


Ah'm    go-   in'    whah    de     chill  -y      wind  don't    Mow! 


r 


L!-fe 


<r\ 
:»; 


:JJ 


II 


1  Ah'm  goin'  whah  nobody  knows  mah  name,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd! 
Ah'm  goin'  whah  nobody  knows  mah  name,  Ah'm  goin'  whah  nobody  knows  nuih  mime! 

£  Ah'm  goin'  whah  dey  don't  shovel  no  snow,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd! 

Ah'm  goin'  whah  dey  don't  shovel  no  snow,  Ah'm  goin'  whah  dcy  don't  shovel  no  snow! 

3  Ah'm  goin   whah  de  chilly  wind  don't  blow,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd! 

Ah'm  goin'  whah  de  chilly  wind  don't  blow,  Ali'm  goin'  whah  de  chilly  wind  don't  blow! 

Note:  Those  who  so  choose  may  use  the  following  "K.  C.  line"  couplet  in  place  of  one  the 
above  stanzas;  or  the  El  Paso  version  (B)  below. 

Ah'm  goin'  on  dat  ol*  K.  C.  line,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd,  Lawd! 
Ah'm  goin*  on  dat  ol'  K.  C.  line,  Ah'm  goin'  on  dat  oP  K.  C.  Hnef 

B 

1  O  baby,  where  you  been  so  long?     Lord,  Lord,  Ix>rd,  Lord, 
O  baby,  where  you  been  so  long?     0  baby,  where  you  been  so  long? 

£  O  honey,  let  your  hair  hang  down,  Lord,  Lord,  1/ord,  Lord, 

O  honey,  let  your  hair  hang  down,  O  honey,  let  your  hair  hang  down. 

8  O  honey,  your  hair  grows  too  long,  Lord,  Lord,  Lord,  Lord, 
O  honey,  your  hair  grows  too  long,  0  honey,  your  hair  grows  too  long. 


2S7 


THOSE   GAMBLER'S  BLUES 


This  may  be  what  polite  society  calls  a  gutter  song.  In  a  foreign  language,  in  any  lingo  but 
that  of  the  U.  S.  A.,  it  would  seem  less  vulgar,  more  bizarre.  Its  opening  realism  works  on  toward 
irony  and  fantasy,  dropping  in  its  final  lines  again  to  blunt  realism.  Texts  and  melody  are  from 
the  song  as  given  (A)  by  Henry  McCarthy  of  the  University  of  Alabama,  and  (B)  by  Jake  Zeitlin 
and  Jack  Hagerty  of  Fort  Worth  and  Los  Angeles. 

Arr.  R.  C. 

81owt  droway  $; 


1.  It   was    down   in    old  Joe's  bar  -  room 
left  stood  Joe  Me  -  Ken  -  ny,1 . 


On     a 
His 


cor  -  nor   by      the       square,      The  drinks  were  served  as       us  -  u  -  al,  And    a 

eyes  blood-shot  and      red,  He   gazed    at      the  crowd     a-roundhim,  And 

,.,-f^'.  _*. 


*s:' 


!M_jjie33^It 


:>.:-- ifiH 


i 

•r-  *-  •  i 


jt2-ne: 

nr 


_*- •-"-*      "m- 

: :_*__i::_ 


~^f^    ^ 


"V~a~ 


Eiy^^^E^ 


good  -  ly  crowd  was      there, 

these  are  the    words    he       said: 


J. 


2.  On    my 
S 


3.  As     I 


228 


THOSE  GAMBLER'S  BLUES 


passed    by  the  old      in  -  fir  -  mar-y,     .     f         I     saw  _     my  sweet-heart     there,.     .      All 


stretched  out  on        a      ta    -     ble,  .     .       So      pale,      so   cold,    so       fair. 


.i>~- 
>JL: 


If 


4.  Six  -  teen  coal  -  black  hors  -  es,     ....       All  hitched      to      a    rub  -  bcr  -  tired 


^ 


hack,     .     .     .      Car  -  ried  sev     -    en  girls      to    the  grave-yard,      .     .          And  on  -  ly 


THOSE  GAMBLER'S  BLUES 


SIX 


of     'em  com  -  in*      .  back.  .     . . . 


K'll.  ^ 


_  -^^  ^  •  -^ 

5.    O  when  I     .    die  just  bur-y   me  .  In    a    box  -  back  coat  and     hat,  .    .Put  a 
(I.  Six  crap  shooters  as  pall  bearers,  .    .  Let  a  cho-rus  girl  sing  me  a    song      With  a 


*          -  •( .    - —  x-  *      •<  * 

-"— — -*.  ~      '  ~  rg^=^, 


twent-y  dol-lar  gold-piece  on  my  watch    chain  To   let  the  Lord  know  I'm  standin'     pat. 
jazz       band    on    .       my    .    hearse      .     .     .    To  raise  hell    as    we  go    a      -     long." 


>[_• £  %^f     '09 

_.  -^  ^j^^...,^-  »| 


7.  And  now  you've  heard  my  sto-ry,  .     .     Flltake  an-othershot  o'  booze;    If 
ritard. 

_T2_-   ^~—+^       I  I  _.,  _ 


THOSE  GAMBLER'S  BLUES 

motto  ritard. 


g  c  c  g  c  ci 


an  -  y  -  bod-y  hap-pens  to  ask  you,  .     .  Then  I've  got  those  gambler's  blues. 


ribtrti. 


i  :r?t 

ribird.  un  jxjco 


-  H         '•  -1 — ! —  -r~  ---I    r-*~" — r=^"  ' "- 


1  It  was  down  in  old  Joe's  bar-room 
On  a  corner  by  the  square, 
The  drinks  were  served  as  usual, 
And  a  goodly  crowd  was  there. 

$  On  my  left  stood  Joe  Me  Kenny, 
His  eyes  bloodshot  and  red, 
He  gazed  at  the  crowd  around  him 
And  these  are  the  words  he  said: 

8  "As  I  passed  by  the  old  infirmary, 
I  saw  my  sweetheart  there, 
All  stretched  out  on  a  table, 
So  pale,  so  cold,  so  fair. 

4  Sixteen  coal-block  horses, 

All  hitched  to  a  rubber-tired  hack, 


1  Went  down  to  St.  Joe's  infirmary, 
To  see  my  woman  there; 

She  was  layin*  on  the  table, 
So  white,  so  cold,  so  fair. 

2  Went  up  to  see  the  doctor, 
"She's  very  low,"  he  said; 
Went  back  to  see  my  woman, 
Good  God!  she's  layin'  there  dead, 
Spoken:  She's  dead! 

3  Let  her  go,  let  her  go,  God  bless  her, 
Wherever  she  may  be! 

There'll  never  be  another  Kfce  her, 
ThereH  never  be  another  for  me. 


Carried  seven  girls  to  the  graveyard, 
And  only  six  of  'em  comin'  back. 

6  O,  when  I  die,  just  bury  me 

In  a  box-back  cout  and  hat,  [chain 

Put  a  twenty  dollar  gold  piece  on  my  watch 
To  let  the  Ix>rd  know  I'm  si  and  in'  pat. 

6  Six  crap  .shooters  as  pall  l>earers, 
Let  a  chorus  girl  sing  me  a  song 
With  a  jazz  band  on  my  hearse 
To  raise  hell  as  we  go  along." 

7  And  now  you've  heard  my  story, 
I'll  take  another  shot  o'  boo/e; 
If  anybody  hapj>ens  to  ask  you, 
Then  I've  got  those  gambler's  blues. 


B 


4  I  may  Ix.1!  killed  on  the  ocean, 

I  may  be  killed  by  a  cannonball, 

But  let  me  tell  you,  buddy, 

That  a  woman  wan  the  cau»e  of  it  all. 

5  Seventeen  girls  to  the  graveyard, 
Seventeen  girls  to  sing  her  a  song, 
Seventeen  girls  to  the  graveyard  — 
Only  sixteen  of  'cm  comin'  back. 

6  O  sixteen  coal-black  horses, 
To  carry  me  when  I'm  gone. 
O  flowers  on  the  coffin, 
While  the  burial's  carried  OIL 


281 


GOT  DEM   BLUES 


"The  very  essence  of  the  majority  of  blues,"  wrote  Abbe  Niles,  "is  found  in  the  traditional 
line,  common  property  of  the  race:  'Got  de  blues,  but  too  dam'  mean  to  cry.'"  .  .  .  One  of  the 
earliest  blues  is  presented  here,  as  heard,  recorded,  and  harmonized  by  Henry  Francis  Parks,  com- 
poser, music  critic,  theater  console  player,  author  of  the  book,  "  Jazzology  of  the  Pipe  Organ."  It 
was  moaned  by  resonant  moaners  in  honky  tonks  of  the  southwest. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 
Slow  stomp  time,  sensually  and  languidly  (8t>okeri\ 


Got  dem  blues,but  I'm  too  mean,  lord-y,  I'm  too  damn'd  mean  to  cry.       Oh!  I  got  dem 


t 


gg^fei 


i  i    i 

PB 


Yes!          I     got  dem  dirt-y       blues,     .  But  I'm  too  damn'd  mean          to 


S3 


Hint 


^ 


23* 


GOT  DEM  BLUES 

(Spoken) 


1 
Ua 


cry;          Yes!  mean  to         cry. 


Sweet  Dad-dy! 


Uh-liuh! 


S 


-?tt 


^^ 


s  *   3 


5T^ 


5^3 •;*— 5T^3^T3— 5 


E:-fe£^gLE 


Da  Capo  a?  Awe  ad  lib. 


Trun  me  down! 


Uh-hviht 


^y«.. 


•^  ^    i   5T"^"5t     i 


Got  dem  blues,  but  I'm  too  mean,  lordy, 

I'm  too  damned  mean  to  cry. 

Oh!  I  got  dem  blues! 

Got  dem  blues,  but  I'm  too  damned  mean  to  cry. 

Yes!  I  got  dem  dirty  blues, 

But  I'm  too  damned  mean  to  cry; 

Yes!  mean  to  cry. 

Sweet  Daddy!  Uh-huh!  Trun  me  down!  Uk-kuht 


233 


DE  BLUES  AIN'  NOTHING 


This  blues  was  sung  in  honky  tonks  of  the  southwest  in  years  before  the  appearance  of  "mean 
moaners  "in  cafes  where  a  tuxedo  is  requisite.  .  .  .  "B-l-u-e"at  the  close  of  each  verse  is  sometimes 
"b-a-d." 

Arr.  L.  S. 

j.       Melancholy,  but  not  too  slow 


^ 


=t 


Ah'm  go  11  -  na  build  mah  -  self      a  ra  -  ft,     .  An'  float   dat     rib  -  bah 


m 


r 


-j — ^ — -. 

*r 


~£:~ (» ^±r- ~f» —  "[—.•'  i^-HJr-^ i^—^-— <*—»-* — "j 


.-7j~ 


do  -  wn.  .     . 


Ah'll     build    niah-self        a    shack 


In     some  ol*    Tex  -  as 


-oir--— , 


m 


i 


¥=!=? 

— *K «i ^-T 


- 


r-=*i 


^ 


/r\  /TN 

— I-  . 


^ 


town, 
retarding 


M  -  hm,      m  -  hm!     'Cause  de      blues    am' noth -in',  No,  de 

fast 


Q^--  J"^ — — j 


^ 


284 


DE  BLUES  AIN'  NOTHIN' 


:±=+-JUE-^E 


7-h       |       ,-£==£ 
VJ      J.     JW      Ji 


yEEg 


blues    ain'    noth-in'    But     a 


good  man     feel  -  in' 
draw  this  out    .     .     . 


b-l-u-e!  .     .     . 


s 


i 


pH 


Ah'm  gonna  build  mahself  a  raft, 
An'  float  dat  ribbah  down. 
Ah'll  build  mahself  a  shack 
In  some  oP  Texas  town, 

Mhm,  mhm! 

'Cause  de  blues  ain'  nothin\ 
No,  de  blues  ain'  nothin' 
But  a  good  man  feelin'  b-l-u-e. 

Ah'm  goin'  down  on  de  levee, 
Goin'  to  take  mahself  a  rockin'  chair. 
K  mah  lovin'  man  don'  come, 
Ah'll  rock  away  from  there, 


Mhm,  mhm! 

'Cause  de  blues  ain'  nothing 
No,  de  blues  ain'  nothin' 
But  a  good  man  feelin'  b-l-u-e. 

8  Why  did  you  leave  me  blue? 
Why  did  you  leave  me  blue? 
All  I  do  is  sit 
And  cry  for  you, 
Mhm,  mhm! 

'Cause  dc  blues  ain'  nothin', 
No,  de  blues  ain'  nothin' 
But  a  good  man  feelin'  b-l-u-e. 


235 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  BLUE 


This  arrangement  is  based  on  the  song  as  heard  at  the  Wisconsin  Players'  House  in  Milwaukee, 
where  it  arrived  through  an  Oklahoma  poet  named  Ellis,  who  heard  it  from  negroes  in  the  cotton 
fields  of  Texas.  It  is  an  early  blues,  not  to  be  hurried  in  its  rendition;  if  you  feel  like  giving  it  very 
slow  and  very  draggy  that  is  the  way  for  you  to  give  it;  it  is  a  massive,  lugubrious  gargoyle  of  a  song. 

Am  L.  S. 


When    a  worn-  an    blue,          when    a  worn-  an    blue, 


ang  her  lit  -  tie  head  and 


(,ry —       When  a  wom-an  blue,        when  a  wom-an  blue,        She  hang  her  lit- tie  head  and 


cry — (Hah  huh  hah  high!)  When  a  man  get  blue  He  grab     a   rail-road  train    and     ride. 


j i -y—  —  i 

iri 'r      """"""  -"^.."i r    -i  j     f 

( j- ±z^=irz=__^.   ..II  ndzzi—  jzzt 

~~~  ~~  " 


When  a  woman  blue,  when  a  woman  blue, 
She  hang  her  little  head  and  cry  — 
When  a  woman  blue,  when  a  woman  blue, 
She  hang  her  little  head  and  cry  — 
(Hah  hah  hah  high!) 
When  a  man  get  blue 
He  grab  a  railroad  train  and  ride. 
236 


WHEN  A   WOMAN  BLUE 

I'm  go'n  lay  my  head,  I'm  go'n  lay  my  head, 

Down  on  dat  railroad  line  — 

I'm  go'n  lay  my  head,  I'm  go'n  lay  my  head, 

Down  on  dat  railroad  line  — 

(Lah  hah  hah  bine!) 

Let  de  train  roll  by, 

And  dat '11  pacify  my  min'. 


COO-COO 
(PEACOCK  SONG) 

An  old  negro  voodoo  woman  in  South  Carolina  told  of  all  the  animals  holding  a  meeting.  They 
elected  the  peacock  to  be  queen.  She  sang  an  acknowledgment,  spoke  with  music,  her  apprecia- 
tion of  the  honor  conferred  on  her.  Thus  we  have  the  Coo-Coo  murmur,  moan  and  cry,  presented 
here  from  Arthur  Billings  Hunt,  baritone  concert  singer,  and  authority  in  several  fields  of  American 
folk  and  art  song. 

Arr.  Th.O. 


Not  UK,*, 


Coo- coo,  coo-oo-oo,  Coo -coo,  coo-oo-oo,   Coo -coo,   coo-ah  -  li    -oh!     .    .     .     . 

'*•« rrrjg-qidr^r 


rSi 


i!$E 


f> 

te- 


&- 


Coo  -  coo,    coo  -  oo  -  oo,    Coo  -  coo    coo-oo  -  oo,    Coo  -  coo,  coo— ah  -  li  -  oh!    .    ,     . 


237 


GREAT  GAWD,    I'M   FEELIN'   BAD 

A  desolated  heart  trumpets  humiliation.  .  .  .  Florence  Heizer  of  Osage,  Kansas,  heard  this 
often  from  a  negro  woman,  who,  over  the  ironing  board,  could  reply  to  any  mourning  dove  that  sat 
in  the  cottonwoods. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 
Moderate  con  moto 


pocof 


Great  Gawd,        I'm    feel  -  in'          bad,  I     ain't    got     the  man    that    I 


W/  "-N.  .  *~\  .  ^^> 


thought  I  had !    .     .     . 

ante  t  s3 


marcato  - 


•ftp i p-S^f- F ' — &  •  •  \*~ — \ -,J ' v^x __l_p — )•_• — p2 — i_^i LI 

t*   i     t  v    u      ^  '     v-j   i*^  ^ — -     ^  r    r^-^i^ 


Great  Gawd,  I'm  feelin*  bad, 

I  ain't  got  the  man  that  I  thought  I  had  I 

£88 


O  MY  HONEY,   TAKE   ME  BACK 


Tubman  K.  Hedrick  heard  this  often  from  a  hotel  kitchen  in  Memphis,  over  and  over,  day  on 
day.  He  said  of  the  lyric  "'Love  is  not  love  that  too  openly  proclaims  itself,"  adding,  "It  is  a  solo 
with  no  audience  intended  or  wanted  but  one  person  in  the  whole  world.  And  as  such,  the  melody 
carries  the  lyric  persuasively." 

Am  A.  G.  W. 

Suppiicatingly  r^T"^ 


qr^u-ig: 


£=• 


3=* 


O  myhon-ey,    take  me  back,    O  mydahl-in',   I'll    be    true.     I    ammon'-in'    all  day 


_£    8 


~-\~fZ> 


long,     O     myhon-ey,    I       love  you. 


I    have  loved  you  in   joy   and  pain,   In    de 


7-Sji°~l~        F  ..^ 

gff»    +-     _| — -ji    — rr^- 


espressivo  molto 


sun-shine  and  de    rain,    O    my   lion  -  ey,heah  me    do,    O   mydah-lin',    I     love   you. 

>£4JSLL  &  A 

agErgb : . 


1  O  my  honey,  take  me  back, 

0  my  dahlin',  I'll  be  true. 

1  am  mo'nin*  all  day  long, 
O  my  honey,  I  love  you. 


I  have  loved  you  in  joy  and  pain, 
In  de  sunshine  and  de  rain, 
O  my  honey,  heah  me  do, 
O  my  dahlin',  I  love  you. 


WHAT  KIN'  O'  PANTS  DOES  THE  GAMBLER  WEAR 


The  striped  elegance  of  gamblers,  the  hazards  of  the  meat  supply,  the  troubles  of  money,  love, 
and  sleep,  are  themes  here.  The  verses  are  casual,  typical  of  the  impromptu,  the  "make-up"  song 
of  the  negro,  "a  product  of  economic  and  labor  conditions,"  as  Gates  Thomas  notes  in  No.  5  of  the 
Publications  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society.  His  songs  came  from  "shiftless  and  shifting  day 
laborers  and  small  croppers  who  follow  Lady  Luck,  Aphrodite,  and  John  Barleycorn."  .  .  .  The 
tune  is  close  to  certain  Frog's  Courting  melodies.  .  .  .  "Gwain"  is  more  accurate  than  "gwine" 
or"g'on."  .  .  .  When  the  wooden  slats,  on  which  a  mattress  lay,  broke  and  went  "blam-to-blam," 
it  took  a  good  sleeper  to  go  on  drowsing. 


=fn 


=i^=- 


zz==:qffc=zfe  — ^-— f 
— i •»— g-l-g*^ 


it 


What  you  gwain  to   do  when  the  meat  gives  out,  .     my  Ba  -  by?     .    What  you  gwain  to 


do     when  the  meat  gives    out,    .     my  lion   -  ey?    What  you  gwain    to     do     when  the 


meat  gives  out?  Gwain  to  set'roun'  my  do'  with  my  mouf  in      a  pout,  For  some  -  time. 

1  What  you  gwain  to  do  when  the  meat  gives  out,  my  Baby? 
What  you  gwain  to  do  when  the  meat  gives  out,  my  Honey? 
What  you  gwain  to  do  when  the  meat  gives  out? 

Gwain  to  set  'roun'  my  do*  with  my  mouf  in  a  pout, 
For  sometime. 

2  What  kin'  o'  pants  does  the  gambler  wear,  this  mo'nin'? 
What  kin'  o'  pants  docs  the  gambler  wear,  this  evenin'? 
What  kin'  o'  pants  does  the  gambler  wear? 
Big-legged  stripes  cost  nine  a  pair 

This  mo'nin'. 

3  What  kin*  o'  shoes  does  the  gambler  wear,  this  mo'nin'? 
What  kin*  o'  shoes  does  the  gambler  wear,  this  evenin'? 
What  kin'  o'  shoes  does  the  gambler  wear? 

Yaller  toothpicks,  cost  'leven  a  pair 
This  ovcnin'. 

4  Slats  in  the  bed  went  blam-to-blam,  this  mo'nin'; 
Slats  in  the  bed  went  blam-to-blam,  this  evenin'; 
Slats  in  the  bed  went  blam-to-blam; 

Kop'  on  a-sleepin*  like  I  didn't  give  a  damn 
For  sometime. 

5  Til  be  blamed  ef  I  can  see,  my  Baby, 
1*11  be  blamed  ef  I  can  see,  my  Honey, 
I'll  be  blamed  ef  I  can  see 

How  all  my  money  got  away  from  me. 
For  sometime. 


JOE  TURNER 

W.  C.  Handy  refers  to  Joe  Turner  as  a  grandaddy  of  blues.  "  In  some  sections  it  was  called 
Going  Down  the  River  For  Long,  but  in  Tennessee  it  was  always  Joe  Turner."  Joe  was  a  brother 
of  Pete  Turner,  once  governor  of  Tennessee,  and  clothed  with  police  powers  Joe  Turner  took  pris- 
oners from  Memphis  to  Nashville,  "  handcuffed,  to  be  gone  no  telling  how  long."  Thus  Handy  ex- 
plained the  song  to  Dorothy  Scarborough  who  recalled  lines: 

Dey  tell  me  Joe  Turner's  come  to  town. 

He's  brought  along  one  thousand  links  of  chain; 

He's  gwine  to  have  one  nigger  for  each  link! 

He's  gwine  to  have  dis  nigger  for  one  link! 
Handy  used  the  old  theme  for  building  Joe  Turner  blues  with  such  interesting  lines  as: 

Sweet  Babe,  I'm  goin  to  leave  you, 

And  the  time  ain't  long, 

No,  the  time  ain't  long, 

If  you  don't  b'lieve  I'm  leavin* 

Count  the  days  I'm  gone. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Dey      tell      me        Joe   Turn  -ner        he     done        come,     . 

(Non  arpeggiaudo)  ^ 

— IT •       i     <s 

s======ig 


Dey     tell    me       Joe 


Tur  -  ner      he  done        come, 


+<s>-+-*   "T*E 

(1)  Got      my         man  an  gone.  . 

(2)  Come  with    foh  -  ty      links    of         chain. 


Dey  tell  me  Joe  Turner  he  done  come, 
Dey  tell  me  Joe  Turner  he  done  come, 
Got  my  man  an*  gone. 

Dey  tell  me  Joe  Turner  he  done  come, 
Dey  tell  me  Joe  Turner  he  done  come, 
Come  with  fohty  links  of  chain. 


TIMES   GETTIN'   HARD,    BOYS 

When  Rebecca  Taylor  sang  her  spirituals  for  us  in  Columbia,  South  Carolina,  she  was  asked 
if  she  knew  other  songs,  not  spirituals.  "When  you  were  a  girl  wasn't  there  something  that  boys 
and  girls  would  sing  at  each  other  for  fun,  for  mischief?"  Her  eyes  lighted,  she  gave  a  soprano 
chuckle,  and  sang  this  verse  out  of  the  years  when  she  was  young.  The  "yellow  boy'1  amid  the 
black  girls  made  an  impression;  it  started  a  song. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


Tr^iT  ™  ;  w    4  "  '  J  "  '  ' 

"~Zf 

*.'"  _T    J  """     "k.""" 

fc_          *_        J        J        _J          '                  1 

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......  1.        ,           ..           ^..^  •    _    ,    . 

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1       1 

iT           9                                   ^.99                                   999                                         ^ 
Times  get-tin'  hard,  boys,  mon-ey    get-tin*  scarce;  If      times  don't  be     no  bet-terhyar, 

»     (Like  a  guitar) 

i 

1™                     <&                \^ 

U                       J.  J                            ,  1 

—  J  , 

\  n    i                              j  jc 

,  1  

*s* 

^J"  "             —  *S  

^—  /    \  y         ^H                                               -^H 

^         ,                ^ 

^                                f^                     i 

^    p 


$=$=?=*= 


boun'  to   leavedis    place.     Take  my  true  love    by  de    ban*    lead  her  roun*  de    town; 


« 


-T- 


yel  -  low    boy        she         al  -  mos'    faint       a   -   way. 


i 
i 


*f 


Times  gettin*  hard,  boys,  money  gettin'  scarce; 
If  times  don*t  be  no  better  hyar,  boun'  to  leave  dis  place. 
Take  my  true  love  by  dc  hun*  lead  her  roun'  de  town; 
When  she  see  dat  yellow  boy  she  almos'  faint  away. 


£42 


I'M  SAD  AND  I'M  LONELY 

How  many  lies  will  a  free  young  man  tell  a  young  lady?  As  many  as  the  cross-ties  on  the  rail- 
road or  as  many  as  the  stars  in  the  sky.  He  will  lie  and  lie.  His  lies  are  endless.  Thus  the  cast-off 
woman  speaks  of  him.  She  wants  a  mountain  cabin.  She  wants  to  be  so  far  away  that  she  won't 
bother  her  friends,  the  blackbirds.  She  sings  it  slowly.  There  is  time  for  deliberation.  Yet  a 
phrase  now  and  then,  shaded  with  hate  or  pity,  comes  swiftly,  almost  gutturally  and  as  a  threat. 
The  song  came  to  me  from  a  Dallas,  Texas,  woman  who  got  it  from  Tennessee  folks. 


Arr.  L.  S. 


&4E 


ESEEJE 


I'm      sad   and         I'm    lone-ly,         my    heart   it          will       break;         My 


3[fc!fcir±^ 


~&  :3 


l£^3: 


-^ I'  "I     -    J  -~T 

- »  _-  ^-f-d^qTq"™t::r 

m.   u^-.^-^  -<>-. 

sweet-heart      loves  an  -  oth  -  er,        Lord,   I   wish       I  wuz      dcaTH !     .       My 


=r 


*=^*- 


•er 


tf: 


« —   ~—m J A — ^-1 -J ' -J — i — ' l ^ -r"~H-^=T •L-yi- »_.„,„. 

1 1 — .«. ^ 1 1 1 1 , 

cheeks  once  were  red     as      the   bud  on     the    rose,    But  now  they  are    whit-er    than  the 

it          i          .  i 


*aA 


•48 


I'M  SAD  AND  I'M  LONELY 


£ 


m 


li  -    ly       that     grows.    Young    la  -  dies,    tak' wahn -in',     tak'    a  wahn-in'     from 


t=±=^ 


f 
i 


^ 


me.          Don't  waste  your        af-fec-tions     on    a  young  man     so       free.     .         He'lJ 


W  ---jt--ri 

-  f^  -  —  -i 


:izjtfi::fr.-ii: 


gb*=SSE3E 


ai=:ie: 


M         —    j       ^       I— i 


3fe 


r— — ; 


^[^yE 


=U->-£=r4 


hug   you,   he'll    kiss    you,  he'll    tell    you      mo'    lies,          Than  the  cross  ties       on   the 


I* 


x    i — r 


» 


ft 


-=^r 


rail-  road      or    the  stars    in       the     sky.  I'll    build  me       a     cab  -  in       in  the 


244 


I'M  SAD  AND  I'M  LONELY 


r  r  «r 


g^^^?^ 


moun -tains    so       high,  Where  the  black-birds  can't   see    me      and   hear    my       sad 

^^  -^*-  b^Si!  Jti<* 

^'     IT A   !         *S^ 


cry.          I'm  troub -led,        I'm  troub-led,        I'm     troub- led          in     mind; 


Ef 


5§i 


trou  -  ble    don*    kill    me,    I'll    live 


1  I'm  sad  and  I'm  lonely,  my  heart  it  will  break; 

My  sweetheart  loves  another,  Lord,  I  wish  I  wuz  dead! 
My  checks  once  were  red  as  the  bud  on  the  rose, 
But  now  they  are  whiter  than  the  lily  that  grows. 

2  Young  ladies,  tak'  wahnin',  tak'  a  wahnin*  from  me. 
Don't  waste  your  affections  on  a  young  man  so  free. 
He'll  hug  you,  he'll  kiss  you,  he'll  tell  you  mo*  lies, 
Than  the  cross-ties  on  the  railroad  or  the  stars  in  the  sky. 

3  I'll  build  me  a  cabin  in  the  mountains  so  high, 

Where  the  blackbirds  can't  see  me  and  hear  my  sad  cry. 
I'm  troubled,  I'm  troubled,  I'm  troubled  in  mind; 
Ef  trouble  don'  kill  me,  I'll  live  a  long  time. 


8va 


C.  C.  RIDER 


John  Lomax  and  I  heard  this  song  (A)  in  Austin,  Texas,  in  an  old  saloon,  The  Silver  King,  oper- 
ated as  a  soft  drink  parlor  by  a  Mexican  negro,  Martinez.  After  two  negroes  with  guitars  had  sung 
"The  Original  Blues/'  "Franky  and  Johnny,"  ''Boll  Weevil,"  and  other  pieces,  Martinez  himself 
favored  us  with  "C.  C.  Rider,"  which  may  derive  from  "easy  rider."  .  .  .  The  Sunshine  Special,  a 
crack  railroad  train,  has  crossed  Texas  every  day  for  many  years.  ...  In  the  last  line  of  the  first 
verse  the  word  "blowed"  is  given  long,  slow,  controlled  and  powerful,  like  the  whistle  of  an  on- 
rushing  overland  train  on  a  southwestern  prairie;  likewise  the  word  "shine"  in  the  last  line  of  the 
second  verse.  .  .  .  Text  B  is  from  Gates  Thomas  and  his  south  Texas  negro  songs. 

Arr.  E.  C. 


^^  r  — 


Sun     -    shine  Spec  -  ial 


staccato  dots  all  thru 


•— t— 


com-in'  a-round  cle  bend,      It  blowed  jus'  like   it  ncv  -ah  blowed  be  -  foh, 


It 


bio  wed  jus*  like    it    nev-ah  blowed  be    -  foh, 


It    blowed  .     .      jus'  like    it 

• 

^-ir 


246 


C.  C.  RIDER 


FlNB 


1  Dat  Sunshine  Special  romin'  around  de  bend, 
It  blowed  jus'  like  it  nevah  blowod  )>ofoh, 

It  blowed  jus*  like  it  ncvah  blowed  befoh, 
It  blowed  jus*  like  it  nevah  blowed  befoh. 

2  If  I  had  a  head-light  like  on  a  passenger  train, 
I'd  shine  my  light  on  cool  Colorado  Springs, 
I'd  shine  my  light  on  cool  Colorado  Springs, 
I'd  shine  my  light  on  cool  Colorado  Springs. 

3  Oh  C.  C.  RideY,  now  see  what  you  done,  done, 

You  made  me  love  you,  now  your  sweetheart's  come, 
You  made  me  love  you,  now  your  sweetheart's  come, 
You  made  rno  love  you,  now  your  sweetheart's  come. 


B 

1  C.  C.  Rider,  just  see  what  you  have  done! 

You  made  me  love  you,  now  yo*  woman's  done  come! 
You  made  me  love  you,  now  yo'  woman's  done  come! 
You  made  me  love  you,  now  yo'  woman's  done  come! 

2  You  caused  me,  Rider,  to  hang  my  head  and  cry; 
You  put  me  down;  God  knows  I  don't  see  why! 
You  put  me  down;  God  knows  I  don't  see  why! 
You  put  me  down;  God  knows  I  don't  see  why! 


YOU   FIGHT  ON 


Brave  counsel  and  spacious  melody  for  a  pilgrim's  progress.  ...  A  North  Carolina  woman  at 
Purdue  University  heard  this  for  years  as  a  girl  from  a  negro  woman  cook  in  her  home.  "Often 
when  I  was  in  the  kitchen  she  would  say  to  me,  'Come  on,  Miss  Mary,  get  on  de  tune  wagon,  you 
ain't  on  de  tune  wagon.'" 

Arr.  E.  M. 

Moderate  con  mo  to 

Ji       .. PL.     - 


If     yo*  broth  -  cr     done  you   wrong 


Take  him  to    yo'-sclf    a     -     lone; 


Tell  him.brotheryou  done  treated  me 


P^r-3 


-* *- 


_ fe3- 


-*- 


wrong.     You 


on, 


you   fight        on, 


With    yo' 


^ 


3 


? 


^ 


The  first  eighth  note  is  sung  in  the  natural  voice,  the  second  eighth  note  in  falsetto 

243 


YOU  FIGHT  ON 


«       « 


swo'd    in     yo'   ban1,  You    fight      on, 


yes,  you    fight    on.     . 


il 


Lawd-'y    you  fight  on    With  yo' swo'd    in    yo' han', You  fight     on. 

/TS  —  — 


^ ^1 

Viii -W 

J  f 


If  yo'  brother  done  you  wrong 

Take  him  to  yo'self  alone; 

Tell  him  brother  you  done  treated  me  wrong. 

You  fight  on,  you  fight  on, 

With  yo'  swo'd  in  yo'  han', 

You  fight  on,  yes,  you  fight  on. 

Lawdy  you  fight  on 

With  yo'  swo'd  in  yo'  han' 

You  fight  on. 


210 


SATAN'S  A   LIAH 


In  Duluth,  Minnesota,  I  heard  Margaret  Moore  Nye,  of  a  Richmond,  Virginia,  family,  deliver 
this  spiritual  as  she  heard  it  in  the  kitchen  of  her  girlhood  home.  She  seated  herself  in  a  chair, 
crossed  her  knees,  threw  her  head  back,  closed  her  eyes,  patted  the  time  with  a  foot,  impersonating 
the  mammy  in  Richmond  from  whose  lips  she  heard  it  many  years. 

Con  uioto  tranqulllo  AlT.  A.  G.  W. 


Sa  -  tan's      a          H    -    ah,    .       an'      a      con  -  juh        too;      .      .       If     you 


u  ____ 


T 


•          — »"  >-*~  — *~  - —  «^^~ 


don*  watch    out    .    he'll    con -juh     you;     .     .       Sa-tan's  a     li-ah,  an'  a  con -juh 


too; 


If   you          don*  watch  out  he'll  con  -  juh  you. 


ii .>  j>  i    -fH" 


-CZ- 


-fear 


k 


250 


SATAN'S  A  LIAH 

mjD  pocorit. 


r*. 


J  J 


* 


Ain*  gon  -  na  wor-  ry   my  Lawd  no*      mo',    Ain'  gon-  na  wor  -  ry  my  Lawd   no    mo*. 
->  pocorit.  rU.  ^ 


-*•   *  ^ 


1  Satan's  a  liah,  an*  a  conjuh  too; 

If  you  don*  watch  out  he'll  conjuh  you. 
Satan's  a  liah,  an'  a  conjuh  too; 
If  you  don*  watch  out  he'll  conjuh  you. 
Ain'  gonna  worry  my  Lawd  no  mo', 
Ain'  gonna  worry  my  Lawd  no  mo*. 

2  Satan's  got  a  mighty  big  shoe, 

If  you  don'  watch  out  he'll  slip  it  on  you. 
Satan's  got  a  mighty  big  shoe, 
If  you  don'  watch  out  he'll  slip  it  on  you. 
Ain'  gonna  worry  my  Lawd  no  mo',  etc. 

8  Coin'  to  heaven  on  a  angel's  wing, 
When  I  get  there  you'll  hear  me  sing. 
Coin'  to  heaven  on  a  angel's  wing, 
When  I  get  there  you'll  hear  me  sing. 
Ain'  gonna  worry  my  Lawd  no  mo',  etc. 

4  When  I  get  to  heaven  goin'  to  sit  yah  down, 
Coin'  to  put  on  my  robe  an'  starry  crown. 
When  I  get  to  heaven  goin'  to  sit  yah  down, 
Coin'  to  put  on  my  robe  an'  starry  crown. 
Ain*  gonna  worry  my  Lawd  no  mo',  etc. 


251 


DE  BALLET  OF  DE  BOLL  WEEVIL. 


"What's  the  song  you're  singing?"  John  Lomax  once  asked  a  group  of  negroes,  who  answered, 
"Dat's  de  ballet  of  de  boll  weevil."  They  have  "ballets"  (narratives),  "reels"  (dance  songs),  and 
"mellows"  (melodies),  besides  improvisations  called  "make-up"  and  "jump-up"  songs.  .  .  .  There 
were  planters  who  gazed  on  ravaged  cotton  fields  and  felt  the  multiplied  myrmidons  of  the  boll 
weevil  to  be  as  terrible  as  one  of  the  Four  Horsemen  of  the  Apocalypse.  The  imagination  of  the 
negro  field  workers  played  shrewdly  and  whimsically  on  the  phantom  that  came  so  silently  to  destroy 
the  work  of  man  on  the  land  that  man  claims  to  own.  .  .  .  Gates  Thomas  recorded  three  boll  weevil 
verses  in  1897,  many  more  in  1906,  and  wrote  in  1926  as  to  calamity  and  destruction  by  the  insect 
plague,  that  it  had  been  "more  than  averted,  thanks  to  the  application  of  scientific  findings  to 
cotton-growing  and  to  the  practical  and  creative  work  of  seed  breeders;  but  the  ballad  is  still  im- 
aginatively true  to  the  time  and  region  in  which  it  arose  communally."  .  .  .  Text  and  tune  here 
arc  from  Texas,  Oklahoma,  Mississippi  and  Alabama;  we  forego  boll  weevil  blues  heard  in  Nash- 
ville, Tennessee,  and  on  Lang  Syne  Plantation  at  Fort  Motte,  South  Carolina. 

Allegro  moderato  Arr.  A.  G. 

m/     ^ 

-^71F 


Ttt=r*±=?~+— i 
|Ki;):iKrgrf^-'4r'1    la^hfEd 

.(-_ u  1 — (.-   L_ 1__ k_ 1 


liT     bug       say       to      de    farm  -    er: 

ftf>  J^j^L__  •  £-3^JM 


**  Got      a      nice       big       fam  -  bly 

mf>      "~ 


7HU  I         __  ^^^^^^^^^- 

^^^^t^^^q 


dere; 


Coin*    to    have     a         home, 


DE  BALLET  OP  DE  BOLL  WEEVIL. 


\l-il                    VI* 

/£        *         X        ^p       w         J           f*                                                        ^       X         X          *l 

/f\ 

—  =  ii 

"^*J*                                   ^F*                                     "^S^" 

H 

.    .          Goin'    to    have    a       home."    

1  De  farmer  say  to  de  weevil: 
"What  you  doin'  on  de  square?" 
De  li'l  bug  say  to  de  farmer: 
"Got  a  nice  big  fambly  dere; 

Goin'  to  have  a  home,  goin'  to  have  a  home." 

2  Farmer  say  to  de  boll  weevil: 
"You's  right  up  on  de  square." 
Boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer: 
"Mah  whole  fambly's  there, 

I  have  a  home,  I  have  a  home." 

3  Bull  weevil  say  to  de  lightnin'  bug: 
"Can  I  get  up  a  trade  wid  you? 

If  I  was  a  lightnin'  bug, 

I'd  work  the  whole  night  through, 

All  night  long,  all  night  long." 

4  Don'  you  see  dem  creepers 
Now  have  done  me  wrong? 
Boll  weevil  got  my  cotton, 
An'  de  merchan'  got  my  corn; 
What  shall  I  do?    I've  got  de  blues. 

5  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  merchan' : 
"Bettah  drink  yo'  col'  lemonade; 
W'en  I  get  through  wid  you, 
Goin'  to  drag  you  out  o'  dat  shade, 
I  have  a  home,  I  have  a  home." 

6  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  doctah: 
"Bettah  pull  out  all  dem  pills, 
W'en  I  get  through  wid  de  farmer, 
Can't  pay  no  doctah's  bills. 

I  have  a  home,  I  have  a  home." 


Sva  bass 

7  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  preacher: 
"Bettah  close  up  dem  church  doors, 
W'en  I  get  through  wid  de  farmer, 
Can't  pay  de  preacher  no  mo'. 

I  have  a  home,  I  have  a  home." 

8  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer: 
"You  can  ride  in  dat  Fohd  machine. 
But  w'en  I  get  through  wid  yo'  cotton, 
Can't  buy  no  gasoline, 

Won't  have  no  home,  won't  have  no  home." 

9  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer: 
"I'm  a  sittin*  here  on  dis  gate, 
W'en  I  get  through  wid  de  farmer, 
He's  goin'  to  sell  his  Cadillac  Eight, 
I  have  a  home,  I  have  a  home." 

10  Boll  weevil  say  to  his  wife : 
"Bettah  stan'  up  on  yo'  feet, 
Look  way  down  in  Mississippi, 
At  de  cotton  we'd  got  to  eat, 
All  night  long,  all  night  long." 

11  De  farmer  say  to  de  merchan*: 
"I  want  some  meat  an*  meal!*' 
"Get  away  f'm  here,  yo'  son-of-a-gun, 
Yo'  got  boll  weevils  in  yo'  fieP, 

Goin'  to  get  yo'  home,  goin*  to  get  yo'  home.*1 

12  Boll  weevil  say  to  de  farmer, 
"I  wish  you  all  is  well!" 
Farmer  say  to  de  boll  weevil : 
"I  wish  you  wuz  in  hell! 

I'd  have  a  home,  I'd  have  a  home.** 


253 


DE  TITANIC 


The  central  facts  of  an  immense  sea  tragedy  are  here.  The  main  narrative  lines  of  each  stanza 
cadence  a  proud  ship  sailing  at  high  speed,  ending  with  a  slow  drawn  drag,  the  silence  of  the  empty 
sea  that  follows  the  "sinkin*  down."  As  a  poem,  in  accuracy  of  statement,  in  stresses  of  details, 
and  in  implicative  quality,  some  would  rate  this  above  Longfellow's  "Wreck  of  the  Hesperus." 
The  arrangement  here  is  based  on  the  singing  of  Miss  Bessie  Zaban,  formerly  of  Georgia  and  now  of 
Chicago;  a  number  of  verses  were  sent  to  her  by  C.  H.  Currie  of  Atlanta,  Georgia.  .  .  The  dialect 
is  imperfectly  rendered.  Negro  troops  sang  the  song  crossing  the  submarine  zone  and  in  the 
trenches  overseas.  The  verses  move  smoothly,  in  even  pulsations,  like  the  stride  of  a  great  ocean 
liner  with  its  turbines  in  good  working  order.  The  chorus  words  "ocean"  and  "Titanic"  sway 
like  a  swiftly  "moving  thing  abruptly  slowed  down,  struck,  staggering  and  bewildered,  while  the 
words  "  sinkin'  down  "  have  the  grave,  quiet  suspension  of  a  requiem. 

Arr.  L.  S 


ship       dat          was    cv    -     er     built.  DC     cap    -     'n     pre  -  sua    -    ded  dese 


Cfcr. 

J  - 

J 

r-J- 

J 

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«L 

J 

J 

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Sf 

1     * 

.  .    . 

,   _..  . 

_  ...  . 

_- 

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—  L 

J 

---^-  -    -f-^       — 

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-  ~\~-£2  

^5 

h-75  



-^£3^—  •  ^  

-^<. 

**& 

"\ 

K 

"ty^. 
"i  ^ 

poo  -  pics       to    think 


Dis       Ti    -    tan  -  ic  too    safe  to    sink. 


254 


DE  TITANIC 


i  CHORUS 


Ti 


tan   -   ic,    out   on    de         o    -   cean,  Sink- in'          down! 


1  De  ricli  folks  'cidcd  to  take  a  trip 
On  de  fines'  ship  dat  was  ever  built. 

De  cap'n  presuaded  dese  peoples  to  think 
Dis  Titanic  too  safe  to  sink. 

Chorus: 

Out  on  dat  ocean, 

De  great  wide  ocean, 

DC  Titanic,  out  on  de  ocean, 

Sinkin'  down! 

2  De  ship  lef '  de  harbor  at  a  rapid  speed, 
'Twuz  carry  in*  every  thin'  dat  de  peeples  need. 
She  sailed  six-hundred  miles  away, 

Met  an  icebug  in  her  way. 

£55 


DE  TITANIC 

8  De  ship  lef  de  harbor,  'twuz  runnin*  fas'. 
'Twuz  her  fus'  trip  an'  her  las'. 
Way  out  on  dat  ocean  wide 
An  iccbug  ripped  her  in  de  side. 

4  Up  come  Bill  from  de  bottom  flo* 

Said  dt".  water  wuz  runnin*  in  de  boiler  do*. 

Go  back,  Bill,  an'  shut  yo'  mouth, 

Got  forty-eight  pumps  to  keep  de  water  out! 

5  Jus'  about  den  de  cap'n  looked  aroun', 
He  seed  de  Titanic  wuz  a-sinkin*  down. 
He  give  orders  to  de  mens  aroun': 
"Get  yo'  life-boats  an*  let  'em  down!" 

6  DC  mens  standin'  roun*  like  heroes  brave, 
Nothin'  but  de  wimin  an'  de  chillun  to  save; 
De  wimin  an'  de  chillun  a-wipin*  dere  eyes, 
Kissin'  dere  husbands  an'  friends  good-bye. 

7  On  de  fifteenth  day  of  May  nincteen-twelve, 

De  ship  wrecked  by  an  icebug  out  in  de  ocean  dwell. 
De  people  wuz  thinkin'  o'  Jesus  o*  Nazaree, 
While  de  band  played  "Nearer  My  God  to  Thee!" 


856 


THE  GREAT  OPEN  SPACES 


WHEN  THE  CURTAINS  OF  NIGHT  ARE  PINNED  BACK 

WHEN   THE   WORK'S  ALL   DONE   THIS   FALL 

AS  I   WALKED   OUT   IN  THE  STREETS  OF  LAREDO 

THE  DREARY   BLACK   HILLS 

THE   LONE   STAR   TRAIL 

WHOOPEE   TI   YI   YO,  GIT   ALONG,  LITTLE   DOGIES 

THE  BUFFALO   SKINNERS 

POOR  LONESOME   COWBOY 

THE   TENDERFOOT      

LITTLE   AH    SID 

THE   KINKAIDERS 

DAKOTA    LAND 

THE   FARMER 

RABBLE   SOLDIER        

THE  TRAIL  TO  MEXICO 


HARMONIZATION  BT 

Thorrald  Otterstrdm 
Henry  Francis  Parks    . 

Marion  Lychenheim 
Marion  Lychenheim 
Charles  Farwett  Edson  . 
Charles  Farwett  Edson  . 
Hazel  Felman 
Hazel  Felman 
Marion  Lychenheim 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  .       . 
Alfred  G.  WaihaU  .       . 
Lillian  Roscdale  Goodman 
Hazel  Felman 


PAOF 

25ff 
260 
268 
264 
266 


270 
273 

274 
276 
27H 
280 
282 
281 
285 


217 


•  In  only  a  few  instances  have  I  been  able  to  discover  the  authorship  of  any  song.  They  seem 
to  have  sprung  up  as  quietly  and  mysteriously  as  'ioes  the  grass  on  the  plains.  All  have  been  popular 
with  the  range  riders,  several  being  current  all  the  way  from  Texas  to  Montana,  and  quite  a>  long 
as  the  old,  old  Chisholm  Trail  stretching  between  these  states.  Some  of  the  songs  the  x>wboy 
certainly  composed;  all  of  them  he  sang.  Obviou.sly,  a  number  of  the  most  characteristic  cannot 
be  printed  for  general  circulation.  To  paraphrase  slightly  what  Sidney  Lanier  said  of  Walt  Whit- 
man's poetry,  they  are  raw  collops  slashed  from  the  rump  of  Nature,  and  never  mind  the  gristle. 
Likewise  some  of  the  strong  adjectives  and  nouns  have  been  softened — Jonahed,  as  George  Meredith 
would  have  said.  There  is,  however,  a  Homeric  quality  about  the  cowboy's  profanity  and  vul- 
garity that  pleases  rather  than  repulses.  The  broad  sky  under  which  he  slept,  the  limitless  plains 
over  which  he  rode,  the  big,  open,  free  life  he  live<l  near  to  Nature's  breast ^ taught  him  simplicity, 
calm,  directness.  He  spoke  out  plainly  the  impulses  of  his  heart.  But  as  yet  so-called  polite  society 
is  not  quite  willing  to  hear. 

JOHN  A.  LOMAX  in  Cowboy  Songs  and  Ballad*. 


The  big  ranches  of  the  West  are  now  being  cut  up  into  small  farms.  The  nester  has  come,  and 
conic  to  stay.  Gone  is  the  buffalo,  the  Indian  warwhoop,  the  free  grass  of  the  open  plain;— -even 
the  stinging  lizard,  the  horned  frog,  the  centipede,  the  prairie  dog,  the  rattlesnake  are  fast  dis- 
appearing. Save  in  some  of  the  secluded  valleys  of  southern  New  Mexico,  the  old  time  round-up 
is  no  more;  the  trails  to  Kansas  and  Montana  have  become  grass-grown  or  lost  in  fields  of  waving 
grain;  the  maverick  steer,  the  regal  longhorn,  has  been  supplanted  by  his  unpoetic  but  more  beefy 
and  profitable  Polled  Angus,  Durham,  and  Hereford  cousins  from  across  the  seas.  The  changing 
and  romantic  West  of  the  early  days  lives  mainly  in  story  and  song.  The  last  figure  to  vanish  is 
the  cowboy,  the  animating  spirit  of  the  vanishing  era.  He  sits  his  horse  easily  as  he  rides  through 
a  wide  valley,  enclosed  by  mountains,  clad  in  the  hazy  purple  of  coining  night,  with  his  face  turned 
steadily  down  the  long,  long  road,  "the  road  that  the  sun  goes  down."  Dauntless,  reckless,  as 
gentle  to  a  pure  woman  as  King  Arthur,  he  is  truly  a  knight  of  the  twentieth  century,  A  vagrant 
puff  of  wind  shakes  a  corner  of  the  crimson  handkerchief  knotted  loosely  at  his  throat;  the  thud 
of  his  pony's  feet  mingling  with  the  jingle  of  his  spurs  is  borne  back.1  and  as  the  careless,  gracious, 
lovable  figure  disappears  over  the  divide,  the  breeze  brings  to  the  ears,  faint  and  far  yet  cheery 
still,  the  refrain  of  a  cowboy  song: 

Whoopee  ti  yi,  git  along  little  dogies; 

It's  my  misfortune  and  none  of  your  own. 
Whoopee  ti  yi,  git  along,  little  dogies; 

For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home, 

JOHN  A.  LOMAX  hi  Cowboy  Song?  and  Ballads. 


258 


WHEN  THE  CURTAINS   OF   NIGHT  ARE  PINNED  BACK 


The  cowboys  of  Colorado  took  a  garrulous  popular  song  of  the  1870's,  and  kept  a  fragment, 
the  heart's  essence  of  it.  It  is  impressive  when  sung  by  a  lone  horseman  silhouetted  against  a 
distant  horizon.  Given  anywhere  with  ease,  feeling,  control,  it  may  leave  echoes  as  thin  and  air- 
hung  as  certain  apparitions  of  a  clear  night's  sky  of  stars.  That  is,  it  holds  an  honest  and  independ- 
ent poetry.  .  .  .  Text  and  tune  are  from  Jane  Ogle  of  Rock  Island,  Illinois. 


With  deliberation 


Arr.  Th.  O. 


When    the      cur  -  tains      of        night     Are  pinned  back     by      the      stars,    And  the 


mf 


— r 


beau  -  ti  -  f ul  moon  sweeps  the  sky, 


I'll    re-nicm-bcr  you,Tx)ve,In    my     prayers. 


^=pp^slf^||^Ej^tj^f- 

te*.& 


teP  h      I TH j^^^Fn-T-FJd  4-  J  —  JrrfTT 


I  When  the  curtains  of  night 
Are  pinned  back  by  the  stars, 
And  the  beautiful  moon  sweeps  the  sky, 

I'll  remember  you, 

Love, 

In  my  prayers. 


2  When  the  curtains  of  night 
Arc  pinned  back  by  the  stars. 
And  the  dew  drops  of  heav'n  kiss  the  rose, 

I'll  remember  you, 

Love, 

In  my  prayers. 


WHEN  THE  WORK'S  ALL  DONE  THIS  FALL 


What  the  poet  meant  in  his  mention  of  "the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor/'  is  fairly  well 
delivered  in  the  specific  case  told  of  here.  It  is  a  story  sure  of  its  main  facts\  Radio  Mack  of  San 
Francisco,  of  the  regular  army  and  of  western  cattle  ranches,  communicated  the  tune  and  verses. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


A     group     of       jol    -  ly      cow  -  boys,     dis  -  cus  -  sing  plans      at    ease,       Says 


^J^^g^^^fe^^^^ 


one,*Tll  tell  you  some-thing,boys,if  you  will  lis-tcn,please.  I     am  an  old  cow-punch-er    and 


hyer  I'm  dress'd  in  rags,        I    used    to   be     a  tough  one     and  go     on  great  big  jags. 


%H=4--d* 


^===^3=^-^^ 


^=± 


260 


WHEN  THE  WORK'S  ALL  DONE  THIS  PALL 


But         I      have     got       a      home,  boys,       a     good    one,    you      all    know,      Al   - 


g|=*=£pEJBE 


.  •»,.,.. 

?==. 


i 


though  I    have  not  seen     it     since  long,  long    a  -  go.    I'm     go  -  ing  hack  to    Dix  -  ic    once 

^~--"i       -  '-  -  -  v  - r 


-^£=4- 


=£ 


g^g^^^E^^BfE^EfeJ^E 


more    to  see  them  all,    YesJ'm  go-ing  to  see  mymoth-er  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall. 


lFlf 


El 


ESE 


=3T      ^  J 


WHEN  THE  WORK'S  ALL  DONE  THIS  PALL 

1  A  group  of  jolly  cowboys,  discussing  plans  at  ease, 

Says  one,  "I'll  tell  you  something,  boys,  if  you  will  listen,  please. 

I  am  an  old  cow-puncher  and  hyer  I'm  dressed  in  rags, 

I  used  to  be  a  tough  one  and  go  on  great  big  jags. 

But  I  have  got  a  home,  boys,  a  good  one,  you  all  know, 

Although  I  have  not  seen  it  since  long,  long  ago. 

I'm  going  back  to  Dixie  once  more  to  see  them  all, 

Yes,  I'm  going  to  see  my  mother  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall. 

2  "After  the  round-up's  over  and  after  the  shipping's  done, 

I  am  going  right  straight  home,  boys,  ere  all  my  money  is  gone. 

I  have  changed  my  ways,  boys,  no  more  will  I  fall; 

And  I  am  going  home,  boys,  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall. 

When  I  left  home,  boys,  my  mother  for  me  cried, 

Begged  me  not  to  go,  boys,  for  me  she  would  have  died; 

My  mother's  heart  is  breaking,  breaking  for  me,  that's  all, 

And  with  God's  help  I'll  see  her  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall." 

3  That  very  night  this  "cowboy  went  out  to  stand  his  guard; 
The  night  was  dark  and  cloudy  and  storming  very  hard; 
The  cattle  they  got  frightened  and  rushed  in  wild  stampede, 
The  cowboy  tried  to  head  them,  riding  at  full  speed. 
While  riding  in  the  darkness  so  loudly  did  he  shout, 
Trying  his  best  to  head  them  and  turn  the  herd  about, 

His  saddle  horse  did  stumble  and  on  him  did  fall, 

The  poor  boy  won't  see  his  mother  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall. 

4  His  body  was  so  mangled  the  boys  all  thought  him  dead, 
They  picked  him  up  so  gently  and  laid  him  on  a  bed; 
He  opened  wide  his  blue  eyes  and  looking  all  around 

He  motioned  to  his  comrades  to  sit  near  him  on  the  ground. 

"Boys,  send  my  mother  my  wages,  the  wages  I  have  earned, 

For  I  am  afraid,  boys,  rny  last  steer  I  have  turned. 

I'm  going  to  a  new  range,  I  hyear  my  Master's  call, 

And  I'll  not  see  my  mother  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall. 

5  "Bill,  you  may  have  my  saddle;   George,  you  may  take  my  bed; 
Jack  may  have  my  pistol,  after  I  am  dead. 

Boys,  think  of  me  kindly  when  you  look  upon  them  all, 

For  I'll  not  see  my  mother  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall." 

Poor  Charlie  was  buried  at  sunrise,  no  tombstone  at  his  head, 

Nothing  but  a  little  board  and  this  is  what  it  said, 

"Charlie  died  at  daybreak,  he  died  from  a  fall, 

The  boy  won't  see  his  mother  when  the  work's  all  done  this  fall." 


262 


AS   I  -WALKED  OUT  IN  THE  STREETS  OF  LAREDO 

A  cowboy  classic  known  in  several  tunes  from  the  spaces  patrolled  by  the  Northwest  Mounted 
to  those  where  the  Texas  Rangers  keep  law  and  order,  more  or  less.  The  air  is  old  Irish  and  many 
of  the  lines  are  almost  literally  from  old  broadsides  peddled  in  Dublin  these  years  now  gone. 


I      .walked  out      in    La   -   re  -  do    one  day,     I       spied    a     poor  eow-l  my  wrapped 


up       in  white  lin  -  en,Wrapped  up    in  white  lin  -  en    and  cold     as    the     clay. 


1  As  I  walked  out  in  the  streets  of  Laredo, 
As  I  walked  out  in  Laredo  one  day, 

I  spied  a  poor  cowboy  wrapped  up  in  white  linen, 
Wrapped  up  in  white  linen  and  cold  as  the  elay. 

2  "I  see  by  your  outfit  that  you  arc  a  cowboy," 
These  words  he  did  say  as  I  boldly  stepped  by. 
"Come  sit  down  beside  me  and  hear  my  sad  story; 
I  was  shot  in  the  breast  and  I  know  I  must  die. 

3  "Let  sixteen  gamblers  come  handle  my  coffin, 
lA»t  sixteen  cowboys  come  sing  me  a  song, 

Take  me  to  the  graveyard  and  lay  the  sod  o'er  me, 
For  I'm  a  poor  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done  wrong. 

4  "It  was  once  in  the  saddle  I  used  to  go  dashing, 
It  was  once  in  the  saddle  I  used  to  go  gay. 
Twas  first  to  drinking  and  then  to  card  playing, 
Got  shot  in  the  breast,  I  am  dying  today. 

5  "Get  six  jolly  cowboys  to  carry  my  coffin, 
Get  six  pretty  girls  to  carry  my  pall; 

Put  bunches  of  roses  all  over  my  coffin, 
Put  roses  to  deaden  the  clods  as  they  fall. 

6  "O  beat  the  drum  slowly  and  play  the  fife  lowly 
And  play  the  dead  march  as  you  carry  me  along, 
Take  me  to  the  green  valley  and  lay  the  sod  o'er  me, 
For  I'm  a  young  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done  wrong." 

7  We  beat  the  drum  slowly  and  played  the  fife  lowly, 
And  bitterly  wept  as  we  bore  him  along; 

For  we  all  loved  our  comrade,  so  brave,  young,  and  handsome, 
We  all  loved  our  comrade  although  he'd  done  wrong. 

263 


THE  DREARY  BLACK  HILLS 


Honest  workmen,  small  business  men,  loafers  and  bummers,  rainbow  chasers,  hopers  and 
seekers,  were  in  that  roundhouse  at  Cheyenne.  And  one  who  was  frozen  plumb  to  the  gills,  who 
was  called  the  orphan  of  the  Black  Hills,  sketched  the  scenery. 

Air.  M.  L. 

Slow,  ea*y,  gad-like 


The  round-house  in   Chcy-enne  is  filled    ev  -  Vy   night,  With    loaf-ers  and  bura-mers  of 


4 


most    ev  -   'ry  plight,     On  their  backs   is    no  clothes,     in  their  pock  -  ets     no    bills,    Each 


i  —  --H  -  j      i       I  -  j  --  1—  H  —  r—J  -  4—  -J  -  ---  \ 


?Vjj*- 

— 3r 


:fcr- 


^ 


CHORUS 


J  J    jrjl  J  J  / 


day  they  keep  start-ing  for  the  drear-y  Black  Hills.  Don't  go    a-way,  stay  at  home  if   you  can, 


THE  DREARY  BLACK  HILLS 


^23-£=Z=: 


Stay  a- way  from  that  cit-y  they  call  it  Cheyenne, Where  the  blue  wa-ters    roll, 


man 


-     che      Bills,   They  will 

— J 


lift 


your   hair,     on  the   drea  -  ry  Black  Hills. 

—  T O-"  "  IF"  ~ ":  H 

^rt^" 


^ 


r 


1  The  roundhouse  in  Cheyenne  is  filled  every  night, 
With  loafers  and  bummers  of  most  ev'ry  plight, 

On  their  backs  is  no  clothes,  in  their  pockets  no  bills, 
Each  day  they  keep  starting  for  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 

Chorus: 

Don't  go  away,  stay  at  home  if  you  can, 
Stay  away  from  that  city  they  call  it  Cheyenne, 
Where  the  blue  waters  roll,  and  Comanche  Bills, 
They  will  lift  up  your  hair,  on  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 

2  I  got  to  Cheyenne,  no  gold  could  I  find, 

I  thought  of  the  lunch  route  I'd  left  far  behind; 

Through  rain,  hail,  and  snow,  frozen  plumb  to  the  gills,  — 

They  call  me  the  orphan  of  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 

3  Kind  friend,  to  conclude,  my  advice  I'll  unfold, 
Don't  go  to  the  Black  Hills  a-hunting  for  gold; 
Railroad  speculators  their  pockets  you'll  fill 
By  taking  a  trip  to  those  dreary  Black  Hills. 

Last  Chorus: 

Don't  go  away,  stay  at  home  if  you  can, 
Stay  away  from  that  city,  they  call  it  Cheyenne, 
For  old  Sitting  Bull  or  Comanche  Bills 
They  will  take  off  your  scalp  on  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 
265 


THE  LONE  STAR  TRAIL 

A  cowboy  classic  of  saddle  and  trail,  ranch  and  range.  The  verses  are  from  John  Lomax  of 
Texas  and  Jay  Monaghan  of  Wyoming.  .  .  .  The  line  "I  got  a  gal,  prettiest  gal  you  ever  saw,"  is 
sometimes  sung,  "I  went  to  the  reservation  to  see  my  squaw."  Certain  versions  have  extended  ana 

lurid  conversations  between  the  cowboy  and  the  lady. 

Air.  M.  L. 
„     Bravado  but  not  braggadocio 


fcr-.Trl^&E 


I     start  -  ed     on     the  trail     on     June  twen  -  ty  -  third,    I    been     punch-in'  Tex  -  as 


^& 


:$— =r^rdr=Jtr|-=pi-rjp_-^p  —=x= 
£:_-  -1 -*-~*~4-J=^3=t=f=^t=^      - 


~'F          F      "  L          fc      I^L  —  -"J*—  ~-\ 

r \       \  ~w  •      *         i j n 


cat  -  tie       on      the    Lone     Star     trail;     Sing  -  in*      Ki         yi       yip  -  pi      yap  -  pi 


1  ---  L-EZ^Z  -  LZK 


L  -       T^  -  =^>. 


,     yap  -  pi      yay!    Sing  -  in*     Ki         yi       yip  -  pi      yap  -  pi       y   -   ay!  . 


1  I  started  on  the  trail  on  June  twenty-third, 
I  been  punchin'  Texas  cattle  on  the  Lone  Star  trail; 
Singin*  Ki  yi  yippi  yappi  yay,  yappi  yay! 
Siurin*  Ki  yi  yippi  yappi  yay! 

£66 


THE  LONE  STAR  TRAIL 

fc  It's  cloudy  in  the  west,  a-lookin'  like  rain, 

And  my  damned  old  slicker's  in  the  wagon  again; 
Singin'  Ki  yi  yippi,  etc. 

3  My  slicker's  in  the  wagon,  and  I'm  gettin'  mighty  cold, 
And  these  long-horned  sons-o'-guns  are  gettin'  hard  to  hold; 

Singin'  Ki  yi  yippi,  etc. 

4  I'm  up  in  the  mornin*  before  daylight, 
And  before  I  sleep  the  moon  shines  bright. 

6  Oh  it's  bacon  and  beans  'most  every  day, 
I'd  as  soon  be  a-eatin'  prairie  hay. 

6  I  went  up  to  the  boss  to  draw  my  roll, 

He  had  it  figgered  out  I  was  nine  dollars  in  the  hole. 

7  I'll  drive  them  cattle  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
I'll  kiss  that  gal,  gol  darn  I  will. 

8  My  seat  is  in  the  saddle  and  my  hand  is  on  the  horn, 
I'm  the  best  dam  cowboy  ever  was  born. 

9  My  hand  is  on  the  horn  and  my  seat  is  in  the  saddle, 
I'm  the  best  dam  cowboy  that  ever  punched  cattle. 

10  My  feet  are  in  the  stirrups  and  my  rope  is  on  the  side, 
Show  me  a  hoss  that  I  can't  ride. 

Ill  herded  and  I  hollered  and  I  done  very  well, 
Till  the  boss  said,  "Boys,  just  let  'cm  go  to  hell." 

12  Stray  in  the  herd  and  the  boss  said  kill  it, 

So  I  shot  him  in  the  rump  with  the  handle  of  the  skillet. 

13  I  went  up  to  the  boss  and  we  had  a  little  chat, 

I  slapped  him  in  the  face  with  rny  big  slouch  hat. 

14  O  the  boss  says  to  me,  "I'll  fire  you, 
Not  only  you,  but  the  whole  dam  crew." 

15  I  got  a  gal,  prettiest  gal  y'u  ever  saw, 

And  she  lives  on  the  bank  of  the  Deep  Cedar  Draw. 

16  I'll  sell  my  outfit  just  as  soon  as  I  can; 
I  won't  punch  cattle  for  no  dam  man. 

17  Coin*  back  to  town  to  draw  my  money, 
Coin*  back  home  to  see  iny  honey. 

18  Well,  I'll  sell  my  saddle  and  I'll  buy  me  a  plow 
And  I'll  swear  begad,  I'll  never  rope  another  cow. 

19  With  my  knees  in  the  saddle  and  my  seat  in  the  sky, 
I'll  quit  punching  cows  in  the  sweet  by  and  by. 


WHOOPEE,   TI  YI  YO,   GIT  ALONG,   LITTLE  DOGIES 

This  widely  sung  piece  also  has  the  smell  of  saddle  leather  and  long  reaches  of  level  prairies  in 
it.  It  is  plainly  of  Irish  origin,  connecting  with  the  lilts  and  the  ballads  that  begin,  "As  I  was 
a-walking  one  morning."  The  word  "choila"  is  Spanish  and  is  pronounced  as  if  spelled  "choya." 
The  "dogics"  are  the  little  yearling  steers. 

Arr.  C.  F.  E. 


tii~-,.n — ~    "Tzimif ' 

EH  L 


* — * 


h 


As        I       was     a  -  walk  -  ing    one 


morn  -  ing     for   pleas  -  ure,     I      saw        a    cow-punch-  er   come   rid  -  ing      a  -  lone.     His 


-   -=4-  — 


1 


hat  was  throwed  back  and  his    spurs  was     a  -  jing  -  ling,  And     as      he    ap-proached  he  was 


sing -ing    this  song:    Whoo-pee,     ti       yi      yo,     git     a  -  long,   lit  -  tie  dog-  ies!    It's 


268 


WHOOPEE,  TI  YI  YO,  GIT  ALONG,  LITTLE  DOGIES 


your    mis  - 

—  *  J  «  — 
for  -  tune  and 

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my   own.  Whoo-pee, 

U 

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-iin-.     ----    ----        ^-.—^  .....  -Jrr--...  - 


long     lit  -  tie    dog  -  ies,    For  you  know  Wy   -  o  -  ming  will     be     your  new  home! 


1  As  I  was  a-walking  one  morning  for  pleasure, 
I  saw  a  cowpuncher  come  riding  alone. 

His  hat  was  throwed  back  and  his  spurs  was  a-jingling, 
And  as  he  approached  he  was  singing  this  song: 

Refrain: 

Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies! 
It's  your  misfortune  and  none  of  my  own. 
Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies, 
For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home! 

2  Early  in  the  spring  we  round  up  the  dogies, 
Mark  and  brand  and  bob  off  their  tails, 
Round  up  our  horses,  load  up  the  chuck  wagon, 
Then  throw  the  dogies  up  on  the  trail : 
Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies,  etc. 

3  It's  whooping  and  yelling  and  driving  the  dogies; 
0  how  I  wish  they  would  go  on! 

It's  whooping  and  punching  and  go  on  little  dogies, 
For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home: 
Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies,  etc. 

£69 


WHOOPEE,  TI  YI  YO,  GIT  ALONG,  LITTLE  DOGIES 

4  When  the  night  comes  on  we  herd  them  on  the  bedground, 
These  little  dogies  that  roll  on  so  slow; 

Roll  up  the  herd  and  cut  out  the  strays, 

And  roll  the  little  dogies  that  never  rolled  before: 

Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies,  etc. 

5  Your  mother  she  was  raised  way  down  in  Texas, 
Where  the  jimson  weed  and  sand  burrs  grow. 
Now  we'll  fill  you  up  on  prickly  pear  and  cholla 
Till  you  are  ready  for  the  trail  to  Idaho: 
Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies,  etc. 

6  Oh,  you'll  be  soup  for  Uncle  Sam's  Injuns; 
It's  "beef,  heap  beef,"  I  hear  them  cry. 
Git  along,  git  along,  little  dogies, 
You're  going  to  be  beef  steers  by  and  by. 
Whoopee,  ti  yi  yo,  git  along,  little  dogies,  etc. 


THE  BUFFALO   SKINNERS 

This  is  one  of  the  magnificent  finds  of  John  Lomax  for  American  folk  song  lore.  It  is  the  frame- 
work of  a  big,  sweeping  novel  of  real  life,  condensed  into  a  few  telling  stanzas.  It  is  of  the  years 
when  outfits  of  men  went  onto  the  Great  Plains  and  killed  buffalo  for  the  hides.  The  carcasses  were 
skinned  by  thousands  and  left  on  the  open  prairies  for  the  crows  and  buzzards  to  pick  to  the  bone. 
We  may  hunt  for  a  harder  sardonic  than  that  of  Crego  telling  the  men  they  had  been  "extravagant" 
and  were  in  debt  to  him.  They  killed  him;  it  is  told  as  casually  and  as  frankly  as  the  doing  of  the 
bloody  deed  and  their  immediate  forgetfulncss  about  it  except  as  one  of  many  passing  difficulties  of 
that  summer.  Lomax  speaks  of  this  piece  as  having  in  its  language  a  "Homeric  quality."  Its 
words  are  blunt,  direct,  odorous,  plain  and  made-to-hand,  having  the  sound  to  some  American  ears 
that  the  Greek  language  of  Homer  had  for  the  Greeks  of  that  time. 

Arr.  C.  F.  E. 


'Twas  in      the  town     of  Jacks  -  bo  -  ro       in    the  spring  of    seven  -  ty  -  three,     A 


rTF                                                                   *                                      ! 
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*        T 

^=*^^^^=^ 

THE  BUFFALO  SKINNERS 


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man    by     the  name     of     Cre  -  go  .     .     came  step  -  ping    up      to      me, 

Say  -  ing. 

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^^==^Tj'- 
spend     one  sum  -  mer  pleas- ant  -  ly       jo      the    range    of     the    buf  -  fa  -  lo?" 


B 


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1  'Twas  in  the  town  of  Jacksboro  in  the  spring  of  seventy-three, 
A  man  by  the  name  of  Crego  came  stepping  up  to  me, 

Saying,  "How  do  you  do,  young  fellow,  and  how  would  you  like  to  go 
And  spend  one  summer  pleasantly  on  the  range  of  the  buffalo?" 

2  "It's  me  being  out  of  employment,*'  this  to  Crego  I  did  say, 
"This  going  out  on  the  buffalo  range  depends  upon  the  pay. 
But  if  you  will  pay  good  wages  and  transportation  too, 

I  think,  sir,  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  range  of  the  buffalo." 

3  "Yes,  I  will  pay  good  wages,  give  transportation  too, 
Provided  you  will  go  with  me  and  stay  the  summer  through; 
But  if  you  should  grow  homesick,  come  back  to  Jacksboro, 

I  won't  pay  transportation  from  the  range  of  the  buffalo." 

271 


THE  BUFFALO  SKINNERS 

4  It's  now  our  outfit  was  complete  —  seven  able-bodied  men, 
With  navy  six  and  needle  gun  —  our  troubles  did  begin; 
Our  way  il  was  a  pleasant  one,  the  route  we  had  to  go, 
Until  we  crossed  Pease  River  on  the  range  of  the  buffalo. 

5  It's  now  we've  crossed  Pease  River,  our  troubles  have  begun. 
The  first  damned  tail  I  went  to  rip,  Christ!  how  I  cut  my  thumb! 
While  skinning  the  damned  old  stinkers  our  lives  wasn't  a  show, 
For  the  Indians  watched  to  pick  us  off  while  skinning  the  buffalo. 

0  He  fed  us  on  such  sorry  chuck  I  wished  myself  'most  dead, 
It  was  old  jerked  beef,  croton  coffee,  and  sour  bread. 
Pease  River's  as  salty  as  hell  fire,  the  water  I  could  never  go  — 
O  God!  I  wished  I  had  never  come  to  the  range  of  the  buffalo. 

7  Our  meat  it  was  buffalo  hump  and  iron  wedge  bread, 
And  all  we  had  to  sleep  on  was  a  buffalo  robe  for  a  bed; 

The  fleas  and  gray- backs  worked  on  us,  O  boys,  it  was  not  slow, 

I'll  tell  you  there's  no  worse  hell  on  earth  than  the  range  of  the  buffalo. 

8  Our  hearts  were  cased  with  buffalo  hocks,  our  souls  were  cased  with  steel, 
And  the  hardships  of  that  summer  would  nearly  make  us  reel. 

While  skinning  the  damned  old  stinkers  our  lives  they  had  no  show 
For  the  Indians  waited  to  pick  us  off  on  the  hills  of  Mexico. 

0  The  season  being  near  over,  old  Crego  he  did  say 
The  crowd  had  been  extravagant,  was  in  debt  to  him  that  day, 
We  coaxed  him  and  we  begged  him  and  still  it  was  no  go  — 
We  left  old  Crego's  bones  to  bleach  on  the  range  of  the  buffalo. 

10  Oli,  it's  now  we've  crossed  Pease  River  and  homeward  we  are  bound, 
No  more  in  that  hell-fired  country  shall  ever  we  be  found. 
Go  home  to  our  wives  and  sweethearts,  tell  others  not  to  go, 
For  God's  forsaken  the  buffalo  range  and  the  damned  old  buffalo. 


POOR  LONESOME  COWBOY 

An  atmospheric  sketch  from  Charles  J.  Finger,  of  Fayetteville,  Arkansas,  editor  of  "All's  Well," 
and  author  of  "Tales  from  Silver  Lands"  and  other  books.  It  is  a  species  of  Cowboy  blues,  the 
range  rider's  moan.  Finger  says,  "  It  is  strangely  like  a  song  I  heard  among  the  Argentine  gauchos  — 

No  tengo  padre,  no  tengo  madrc; 
No  hermana,  no  hcrmano; 
O  no!    0  no!    O  no! 

Which  may  be  translated,  "I  have  no  father,  I  have  no  mother,  nor  brother,  nor  sister,  and  so  on." 
.  .  .  The  first  verse  here  may  be  used  as  a  chorus  for  all  succeeding  verses. 

Arr.  H.  P. 
Sad,  and  worse  than  sad  /TN 


I'm      a      poor   lone -some   cow-boy,  I'm      a      poor    lone -some   cow-boy,   I'm     a 

I*    M 


poor        lone   -  some       cow    -    boy,        And       a         long       way        from       home. 


P:IH 


, -  ,  J  mtmmmmSt  —  ___ 

ls^p^^^^.^^^^^^^-^3':''^~^~^'"-: 
5-     w-     >*      V       f  --$-— j*j.—  ^J,-  -g 


1  I'm  a  poor  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor  lonesome  cowboy, 
And  a  long  way  from  home. 

2  I  ain't  got  no  father, 
I  ain't  got  no  father, 
I  ain't  got  no  father, 

To  buy  the  clothes  I  wear. 

8  I  ain't  got  no  mother, 
I  ain't  got  no  mother, 
I  ain't  g  -t  no  mother, 
To  mend  the  clothes  I  wear. 


4  I  ain't  got  no  sister, 
I  ain't  got  no  sister, 
I  ain't  got  no  sister, 

To  go  and  play  with  me. 

5  I  ain't  got  no  brother, 
I  ain't  got  no  brother, 
I  ain't  got  no  brother, 

To  drive  the  steers  with  me. 

6  I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart, 
I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart, 
I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart, 
To  sit  and  talk  with  me. 


273 


THE  TENDERFOOT 

A  plain  tale  that  has  gravity  and  persuasion  and  belongs  in  the  realistic  school  of  narrative. 
We  may  laugh,  as  bystanders  usually  do,  when  somebody  else's  mortal  frame  and  personal  dignity 
are  kicked  around  as  with  this  tenderfoot.  Text  and  tune  are  as  sung  by  Norman  Byrne  of  the 
University  of  Oregon,  and  as  he  learned  it  in  Alberta,  Canada. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


One  day      I  thought  I'd  have  some  fun,  And  see     how  punch  -ing  cows  was  done;   So 


j|pai^pj^^|^|^E|ggijj_ijj| 


when    tlie  round  -  up    had      be  -  gun      I    tack  -  led    the    cat  -  tie  king. 


Says 


r     „_  _____        i™    _• 

i_. . .  J:T_:  — ~  t — r  - 


he,  "My  fore -man's  gone  to  town,  He's  in      a     sa-loon  and  his  name     is  Brown;    If 


^ 


1. 


274 


THE  TENDERFOOT 


(fob    I 

fl>     * 


p^^-i^lrt^' 


rr^rr-^r^^r-^-  -— ~  ~ ij 

__^_   "~j  Yi      '""*       '  '"T  '^-  -~— -^—    -|-| 

•  _"  -  ~.r  ..  -  ^         "i'.Trt?^'*"  ~-~--.-.-.--.-- ...  — 1-| 


you    see  him  he'll  take  you  down/*  Says  I,  '*  That's  just  the   thing."     . 


(way.) 


j 
-^ 

:„  ^.iil  U-- 


1  One  day  I  thought  I'd  have  some  fun, 
And  see  how  punching  cows  was  done; 
So  when  the  roundup  had  begun 

I  tackled  the  cattle  king. 
Says  he,  "My  foreman's  gone  to  town, 
He's  in  a  saloon  and  his  name  is  Brown; 
If  you  see  him  he'll  take  you  down." 
Says  I,  "That's  just  the  thing." 

2  We  started  out  to  the  ranch  next  day. 
Brown  talked  to  me  most  all  the  way. 
Says,  "Punching  cows  is  nothing  but  play, 
It  is  no  work  at  all." 

Oh  jimminy  krissmas,  how  lie  lied! 
He  had  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  gall, 
He  put  me  in  charge  of  the  cavvy  hole, 
Says  Brown,  "Don't  work  too  hard." 

3  Sometimes  those  cattle  would  make  a  break 
And  across  the  prairie  they  would  take, 
Just  like  they  was  running  for  a  stake. 

To  them  it  was  nothing  but  play. 
Sometimes  they  would  stumble  and  fall, 
Sometimes  you  couldn't  head  'em  at  all, 
And  we'd  shoot  on  like  a  cannonball 
Till  the  ground  came  in  our  way. 


4  They  saddled  me  up  an  old  gray  hack 
With  a  great  big  scat  fast  on  his  back. 
They  padded  him  down  with  gunny  sack 
And  with  my  bedding  too. 

When  I  got  on  him  he  left  the  ground, 
Went  up  in  the  air  and  circled  around 
And  when  I  came  down  I  busted  the  ground. 
I  got  a  terrible  fall. 

5  They  picked  me  up  and  carried  mo  in 
And  rubbed  me  down  with  a  picket  pin. 
Says,  "That's  the  way  they  all  begin." 
"You're  doing  fine,"  says  Brown. 
"To-morrow  morning  if  you  don't  die 
I'll  give  you  another  hoss  to  try." 
Says  I,  4'Oh  can't  1  walk?  ..." 

Says  Brown,  "Yep,  back  to  town." 

6  I've  travelled  up,  I've  travelled  down, 
I've  travelled  this  wide*  world  all  around, 
I've  lived  in  city,  I've  lived  in  town; 
I've  got  this  much  to  say : 

Before  you  go  to  punching  cows,        [your  life, 
Go  kiss  your  wife,  get  a  heavy  insurance  upon 
And  shoot  yourself  with  a  butcher  knife, 
For  that  is  the  easiest  way. 


27$ 


LITTLE  AH  SID 


A  popular  song,  a  black-face  minstrel  ballad,  a  favorite  among  chuck  wagon  cooks  on  the  Chis- 
holm  Trail,  as  I  am  told  by  one  of  the  cooks  who  had  been  a  minstrel.  From  West  Coast  cities  it 
traveled  to  gold  diggings  and  cattle  ranges. 

Arr.  M.  L. 

-+—+•* H^-tr— * 0 K — *— LI- £ — £—  F 


Lit  -  tie      Ah     Sid     was     a       Chi  -  nese   kid,       A          neat     lit  -  tie  cuss,      I      de  - 

\  _\J[ .'.'. *•••••••     ., 1~ IJ  ... """"_,  _J _J     f   .,*f .  _4-~-^"+---~ • j        _~~^^^L "_I_-  .^^  ^~~  j        ~        "      ^^^]     ~ 

0      _j      .     \      .      ,  -        ,  rr~Md  ^        ^ 


T"?- 


"IT^ir^i 

Lt_-j_-.^_^ 


-i    n-- 


-fe.ir-Jbr.:— _i7..:.-j: 


Jr== 


With        eyes      full       of       fun,     And     a     nose    that     be  -  gun 


._ 


I l 


Way       up       in      the     roofs      of       his      hair. 


Ki  -  yee         ki  -  yay,       ki    - 


f :  ,.— *  "  « 


276 


LITTLE  AH  SID 


J^j#      _J*  ^.  4»  <p  

—^  ^  _::i-J1  ^   '         ^ 

yip  -  pi       ki  -  yay,       Ki  - 

_  u 

U"      *     •^••-  —  tg  —  •'•[  

^          ^,     "   'tr     --*^  p  — 

^                 ,  ...       ...  .^ 

yip   -  pi        ki  -  yip   -  pi 

.        JV 

^                             ^            *'             9   " 

w?f.^  . 

._          ___.          .  .. 

_^.  ._.„.    I        ^  ~  L_"^^ .  *< y  .  i..' i    '  n  '     "    '  fcT* 


Sang 


lit-  tie    Ah     Sid,    this    Ch  -  i  -  nese   kid,     As  he    played  the  long  sum-mer    day. 


1  Little  Ah  Sid  was  a  Chinese  kid, 
A  neat  little  cuss,  I  declare, 
With  eyes  full  of  fun, 

And  a  nose  that  begun 

Wray  up  in  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

Refrain: 

"Ki-yce  ki-yay,  ki-yippi  ki-yay, 
Ki-yippi  ki-yippi  ki-yay," 
Sang  little  Ah  Sid,  this  Chinese  kid, 
As  he  played  the  long  summer  day. 

2  So  jolly  and  fat  was  this  innocent  brat, 
As  he  played  in  the  long  summer  day, 
And  he  braided  his  cue 

Like  papa  used  to 

In  Chinaland  far  away. 

3  Once  on  a  lawn  that  Ah  Sid  played  on, 
A  bumble-bee  flew  in  the  spring. 
"Ah,  Mellicee  bullifly!" 


Cried  he,  winking  his  eye, 

"Me  ketch  urn  arid  pull  off  urn  wing." 

4  And  then  with  his  cap  he  hit  it  a  rap, 
This  innocent  bumbley  bee, 

And  he  put  its  remains 
In  the  seat  of  his  janes 
For  a  pocket  there  had  this  Chinee. 

5  Now  little  Ah  Sid  was  only  a  kid; 
How  could  you  exjxjet  him  to  guess 
What  kind  of  a  bug 

He  was  holding  so  snug 

In  the  folds  of  his  loose-fitting  dress. 

6  "Ki-yee  ki-yay,  ki-yippi  ki-yay," 
As  he  hurriedly  rose  from  the  spot, 
"  Ki-yee  ki-yam, 

Um  Mellican  man, 

Urn  bullifly  velly  dam  hot!" 


377 


THE  KINKAIDERS 


These  verses,  from  the  Edwin  Ford  Piper  collection  of  pioneer  songs  at  the  University  of  Iowa* 
go  to  a  melody  based  on  Maryland,  My  Maryland,  which  in  turn  is  based  on  the  German  song, 
O  Tanneribaurn,  which  in  turn  derived  from  an  old  Italian  melody,  Vittoria.  The  phrase  "out  of 
sight"  in  the  late  1880's  was  slang  indicating  excellence  or  superfine  quality.  Homesteaders  in  the 
Nebraska  sandhills  sang  this  at  old  settlers*  picnics,  at  reunions,  and  political  gatherings.  Moses  P. 
Kinkaid,  Congressman  from  the  Sixth  District,  1903-1919,  introduced  a  bill  for  640-acre  homesteads 
and  was  hailed  as  a  benefactor  of  the  .sandhill  region. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


You     ask  what  place    I        like    the  !>cst,  The    sandhills,  O       the     old  sandhills;  The 


*  •  •.  "L^ :~  •"  m  "         <*-— 


place    Kiri-kaid    -  ers     make  tlicir  home,   And     prai  -  rie  chick  -  ens      free   -  ly   roam. 


-==3= 


KKKRAIN 


Iii     all    Ne-bras  -  ka's  wide    domain    'Tis    the  place  we  long     to     see      a -gain;  The 


278 


THE  KINKAIDERS 


J.    J   J      J  |-JL_J_J 


sand   hills    are       the      ver  -    y     best,     She       is       the  queen     of       all     the  rest. 


1  You  ask  what  place  I  like  the  best, 
The  sand  hills,  0  the  old  sand  hills; 
The  plaee  Kinkaiders  make  their  home, 
And  prairie  ehiekens  freely  roam. 

Chorus: 

In  all  Nebraska's  wide  domain 
'Tis  the  place  we  long  to  see  again; 
The  sand  hills  are  the  very  best, 
She  is  the  queen  of  all  the  rest. 

2  The  corn  we  raise  is  our  delight, 
The  melons,  too,  are  out  of  sight. 
Potatoes  grown  are  extra  fine 
And  can't  be  beat  in  any  clime. 

8  The  peaceful  cows  in  pastures  dream 
And  furnish  us  with  golden  cream, 
So  I  shall  keep  my  Kinkaid  home 
And  never  far  away  shall  roam. 

Chorus: 

Then  let  us  all  with  hearts  sincere 
Thank  him  for  what  has  brought  us  here. 
And  for  the  homestead  law  he  made, 
This  noble  Moses  P.  Kinkaid. 


£70 


DAKOTA  LAND 

Older  nations  have  had  peasant  revolts  and  agrarian  movements  and  parties.  The  United  States 
has  had  its  Greenback,  Populist,  Nonpartisan  League  and  Farm  Bloc  movements,  all  of  them 
western,  and  in  part  representative  of  strugglers  in  semi-arid  areas  where  so  often  "the  rain's  just 
gone  around."  A  poet  of  those  strugglers,  Edwin  Ford  Piper,  in  "Barbed  Wire  and  Wayfarers/* 
uses  their  lingo: 

Run,  you  M  stiff-kneed  grasshopper, 
You  spiral-spirted  jackrabbit,  you! 
A-ho,  whoopee! 

Brown's  Hotel  we're  bound  to  see, 
Swing  them  girls  at  the  dance  party, 
One-and-twcrity  on  a  moonlight  spree  — 
A- ho,  whoopee! 
Whoa,  Zebe,  whoa! 
Whoa,  'till  I  hitch  you,  whoa! 

In  a  piece  on  "The  Drought,"  he  tells  how 

On  the  whitening  grass, 

With  bright  and  helpless  eyes,  a  meadow  lark 
Sits  open-beaked  and  des{x?rately  mute. 
The  thin,  brown  wheat  that  was  too  short  to  cut 
Stands  in  the  field;  the  feeble  corn,  breast  high, 
Shows  yellowed  leaf  and  tassel. 

And  from  Piper's  song  collection  we  have  a  psalm  of  a  desolate  people,  "  Dakota  Land,"  with  an  air 
somewhat  after  the  gospel  hymn,  "Beulah  Land." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


^£-£3 


We've  reached  the  land  of      des  -  rrt  sweet, Where  noth  -  ing  grows  for    man     to    eat,  The 


Legato  setnpre 


wind      it    blows  with     fev  -  'rish  heat       A  -  cross    the  plains     so     hard     to     l>eat. 


DAKOTA  LAND 


ir-=J^ES^.^-t~-J:: 

.^.  ^ 1"- 4P-; ^ -«P -—    ~         - 


O        Da  -  ko  -   ta    land,    sweet   Da  -  ko  -    ta    land,     As      on      thy    fier   -   y 

^P^rii^ 
•*•••§••*• 


soil      Island,     I       look     a- cross    the  plains,         And    won-derwhy    it    ncv   -  er 

T--T~-  J- 


?.::  .         Jn^HiEf  •:•  (I 


rains,          Till     (ia  -  briel  blows  his  truin-pctsound,And  says  the  rain's  just  gone    a -round. 


r-T-- J  - 


1  We've  reached  the  land  of  desert  sweet, 
Where  nothing  grows  for  man  to  eat, 
The  wind  it  blows  with  feverish  heat 
Across  the  plains  so  hard  to  l>eat. 


Refrain: 

0  Dakota  land,  sweet  Dakota  land, 
As  on  thy  fiery  soil  I  stand, 

1  look  across  the  plains, 

And  wonder  why  it  never  rains, 
Till  Gabriel  blows  his  trumpet  sound 
And  says  the  rain's  just  gone  around. 


2  We've  reached  the  land  of  hills  and  stones 
Where  all  is  strewn  with  buffalo  bones. 

0  buffalo  bones,  bleached  buffalo  bones, 

1  seem  to  hear  your  sighs  and  rnoans. 

3  We  have  no  wheat,  we  have  no  oats, 
We  have  no  corn  to  feed  our  shoats; 
Our  chickens  are  so  very  poor 

They  beg  for  crumbs  outside  the  door. 

4  Our  horses  are  of  broncho  race; 
Starvation  stares  them  in  the  face. 
We  do  not  live,  we  only  stay; 

We  are  too  poor  to  get  away. 


281 


THE  FARMER 

Fragments  of  this  were  heard  in  Illinois  in  the  early  1890*8.  S.  K  Barlow,  a  Galesburg  milk- 
man who  used  to  be  a  fiddler  at  country  dances  near  Galva,  sang  it  for  me  as  we  washed  eight-  and 
two-gallon  delivery  cans  and  quart-measure  cups  on  winter  afternoons.  W.  W.  Delaney  said, 

"As  near  as  I  remember  that  song  came  out  in  the  1860's,  just  after  the  war." 

AIT.  L.  R.  G. 


When     the  farm  -  er  comes     to  town,  With     his    wag  -  on    bro  -  ken  down,      O,      the 

^ -  - 

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farm  -  er     is     the  man   who  feeds  them  all!  If   you'll  on  -  ly   look  and  see,      I     .    . 


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think  you  will      a  -  gree    That    the  farm  -  er      is       the  man   who  feeds  them  all.     .     . 


THE  FARMER 


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I — «— '    -       -~  — .  --»- 

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lead  him    to     the  land,    And     the  merch-ant    i>      the  man    who  gets     it      all.     .     . 

^^-.rr^-r:^.. ;:;  ^Z^-  ^/j^_^_^ ._  f_ 
'  P-*-  •&  •+• 


1  Wlien  the  farmer  comes  to  town, 
With  his  wagon  broken  down, 
O,  the  farmer  is  the  man  who  feeds  them  all! 
If  you'll  only  look  and  see, 
I  think  you  will  agree 


The  doctor  hangs  around 

While  the  blacksmith  heats  his  iron, 

0,  the  farmer  is  the  man  who  feeds  them  all! 

The  preacher  and  the  cook 

Go  strolling  by  the  brook, 


That  the  farmer  is  the  man  who  feeds  them  all.    And  the  farmer  is  the  man  who  feeds  them  all. 


Refrain: 

The  farmer  is  the  man, 
The  farmer  is  the  man, 
Buys  on  credit  till  the  fall; 
Then  they  take  him  by  the  hand, 
And  they  lead  him  to  the  land, 
And  the  merchant  is  the  man  who  gets  it  all. 

283 


Refrain: 

The  farmer  is  the  man, 
The  farmer  is  the  man, 
Buys  on  credit  till  the  fall. 
Tho'  his  family  comes  to  town, 
With  a  wagon  broken  down, 
0,  the  fanner  is  the  man  who  feeds  them  all! 


RABBLE   SOLDIER 


This  also  travels  under  the  names  of  "O  Molly"  and  "My  Horses  Ain't  Hungry."    John 
Lomax  gives  a  version  called  "Jack  O'  Diamonds,"  with  one  chorus  going  — 

If  the  ocean  was  whiskey,  and  I  was  a  duck, 
I'd  dive  to  the  bottom  to  get  one  sweet  sup; 
But  the  ocean  ain't  whiskey,  and  I  ain't  a  duck, 
So  I'll  play  Jack  O'  Diamonds  and  then  we'll  get  drunk. 
O  Baby,  O  Baby,  I've  told  you  before, 
Do  make  me  a  pallet,  I'll  lie  on  the  floor. 

Texts  and  tunes  are  related  to  southern  mountain  songs,  to  old  English  and  Scotch  ballads,  blends 
of  "Old  Smokey,"  "Clinch  Mountain,"  "Skew  Ball,"  "Rebel  Soldier,"  "I'm  a  Poor  Troubled 
Soldier." 

LIUlngly  Arr.  H.  F. 


I've  ram-bled    and  gam-bled      all  mymon-ey        a  -  way,          And  it's  with  the     rab-ble 


ar  -  my,       O     Mol  -  ly,       I'll      stay;  I'll    think    of       you,  Mol  -  ly,      you 


rrr— 


caused  me     to    roam,         I'm  an  old  rab~-  ble     sol  -  dier    and  Dix  -ie's     my  home. 


RABBLE  SOLDIER 

1  I've  rambled  and  gambled  all  my  money  away, 
And  it's  with  the  rabble  army,  O  Molly,  I'll  stay; 
I'll  think  of  you,  Molly,  you  caused  me  to  roam, 
I'm  an  old  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie's  my  home. 

2  I'll  build  me  a  castle  on  a  mountain  so  high, 

Where  the  bluebirds  and  white  doves  can't  hear  my  cry; 
Your  parents  are  against  me,  they  say  I'm  too  jxx>r, 
They  say  I'm  not  worthy  to  enter  your  door. 

3  My  horses  ain't  hungry,  they  won't  eat  your  hay, 
Farewell,  little  darling,  I'll  be  on  my  way; 

As  sure  as  the  dew  falls  upon  the  green  corn, 
Last  night  I  was  with  her,  to-night  she  is  gone. 


THE   TRAIL  TO   MEXICO 

We  have  this'mixture  of  plain  facts  and  romantic  language  from  an  informal  gathering  of  news- 
paper workers  in  Fort  Worth,  Texas,  when  tune  and  text  were  made  known  by  Jake  Zeitlin,  Frank 
Wolfe,  and  an  oil  driller.  It  is  a  cow  trail  classic,  to  be  delivered  earnestly  like  a  witness  who 
knows  his  names  and  dates  and  as  though  everybody  knows  who  A.  J.  Stinson  is.  .  .  .  "Get  the 
hang  of  the  tune  and  all  the  lines  are  easy  to  pucker  in." 


It  was   in    the    mer  -    ry  month  of    May  When  I  start-ed  for    Tex  -   as    far 


a  - 


way,    I      left  my  dar-  ling  girl    be- hind;  She  said  her  heart      was   on  -  ly  mine. 

1  It  was  in  the  merry  month  of  May 
When  I  started  for  Texas  far  away, 
I  left  my  darling  girl  behind; 

She  said  her  heart  was  only  mine. 

2  O  it  was  when  I  embraced  her  in  my  arms, 
I  thought  she  had  ten  thousand  charms; 
Her  caresses  were  soft,  her  kisses  were  sweet, 
Saying,  "We'll  get  married  next  time  we  meet.** 

8  It  was  in  the  year  of  'eighty-three 
That  A.  J.  Stinson  hired  me; 
He  says,  "Young  man,  I  want  you  to  go 
And  follow  this  herd  into  Mexico." 

285 


THE  TRAIL  TO  MEXICO 


4  Well,  it  was  early  in  the  year 

When  I  started  out  to  drive  those  steers; 
Through  sleet  and  snow  'twas  a  lonesome  go 
As  the  herd  rolled  on  into  Mexico. 

5  When  I  arrived  in  Mexico 

I  wanted  to  see  my  girl  hut  I  could  not  go; 

So  I  wrote  a  letter  to  my  dear 

But  not  a  word  for  years  did  I  hear. 

6  Well,  I  started  back  to  my  once  loved  home, 
Inquired  for  the  girl  I  had  called  my  own; 
They  said  she  had  married  a  richer  life, 
Therefore,  wild  cowboy,  seek  another  wife. 

7  "O  bucldie,  O  buddie,  please  stay  at  home, 
Don't  forever  be  on  the  roam. 

There  is  many  a  girl  more  true  than  I, 
So  pray  don't  go  where  the  bullets  fly." 

8  "O  curse  your  gold  and  your  silver  too. 
God  pity  a  girl  that  won't  prove  true. 
I'll  travel  west  where  the  bullets  fly. 
I'll  stay  on  the  trail  till  the  day  I  die." 


^-'(f^ 

'  \* 

1  l'1:"  -V.1  ll"J  '"      *  /^       ' 


\-^"*1 

-'— v-;'^ 


•M 


MEXICAN  BORDER  SONGS 


HARMONIZATION  BT  PACK 

LA  CUCARACHA    (MEXICAN  COCKROACH  SONG)     .          .          .  Alfred  G.  IVotkall  .  289 

MAffANiTAS  (DE  JALISCO) Alfred,  0.  Wathatl  .  292 

LO  QUE  DIGO    .                Alfred  G.  WaihaU  .  «94 

EL  ABANDONADO      .               Rupert  Hughes  ....  295 

CIELTTO  LINDO Alfred  G.  IVaihatt  .  «98 

ADELITA Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  800 

VERSOS  DE  MONTALGO Rupert  Hughes  .  S0£ 


28T 


Child  Drawings  from  Mexican  Folkways 


*88 


LA  CUCARACHA  (MEXICAN  COCKROACH  SONG) 

Dark  women  are  good  as  gold; 
Brunettes  like  silver  win; 
The  blondes  are  only  copper, 
And  the  light  ones  only  tin. 

God  made  the  swarthy  women; 
A  silversmith  the  white  ones; 
The  dark  brunettes,  a  tailor; 
A  cobbler  the  black-as-night  ones. 

In  his  book,  "The  Land  of  Poco  Tempo,"  Charles  Luinmis  gives  these  verses  as  instances  of 
epigrammatic  folk  utterances,  proverbial  rhymes,  dichox.  Nearly  every  Mexican  sometimes  has 
made  a  dicho,  and  the  fittest  of  them  survive,  Ltimmis  tells  us.  They  include  offhand  oddities  such 
as  this  i 

Lovable  eyes 

Of  coffee  hue, 
Give  me  a  kiss 

Of  faith  all  true. 

And  they  may  proclaim  lines  of  highly  serious  mood: 

There  is  no  better  friend  than  God, 
This  is  clear  and  past  denying; 
For  the  dearest  may  betray, 
The  most  truthful  may  be  lying. 

We  are  not  surprised  that  in  the  song  of  La  Cucaracha  (The  Cockroach),  there  is  variety  of 
theme.  Sunny  Spain  heard  the  likes  of  some  of  the  verses  before  they  married  a  new  tune  in  Mexico. 
And  for  understanding  the  banter  and  satire  of  other  stanzas  one  would  require  knowledge  of  the 
careers  of  Pancho  Villa  and  Zapata  besides  an  acquaintance  with  Mexican  political  and  revolution- 
ary history.  In  1916  in  Chicago  I  heard  the  tune  and  two  or  three  stray  verses  of  La  Cucaracha 
from  Wallace  Smith  and  Don  Magregor,  both  of  whom  as  newspaper  correspondents  with  a  streak 
of  outlaw  in  them,  had  eaten  frijoles  with  Villa  and  slept  under  Pancho's  poncho,  so  to  sjieak.  Also 
T.  K.  Hedrick  from  down  Texas  way  sang  the  Cockroach  song  in  Mexican.  However,  we  must  not 
assume  that  a  cockroach  is  what  the  Mexican  means  in  singing  these  verses.  It  may  l>e  a  j>et  name, 
"The  Little  Dancer/'  we  are  told  by  Alice  Corbin.  For  F.  S.  Curtis,  Jr.,  of  the  Texas  Folk  We 
Society  observes,  "A  whole  dissertation  might  be  written  upon  the  fact  that  a  cucaracha  may  be 
either  a  cockroach  or  a  little,  dricd-up  old  maid,  and  that  the  term  was  also  used  as  a  nickname  for 
the  late  Venustiano  Carranza;  and  considerable  space  might  Ixi  devoted  to  explaining  that  mari- 
huana is  a  weed,  which,  when  smoked,  is  capable  of  producing  serious  narcotic  effects  and  even 
causing  a  homicidal  mania."  Then  he  queries  significantly,  "But  of  what  benefit  is  such  stuff  to 
the  songs  of  New  Mexico?"  The  text  here  is  from  Curtis.  He  says  of  the  tune,  "  It  strongly  sug- 
gests a  sixteenth  century  origin,  especially  with  the  guitar  accompaniment  usually  used." 

S89 


LA  CUCARACHA 


Allegretto 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


When      a      fcl  -  low  loves    a      maid-en          And  that  maid  -  en    does -n't   love  him, 


1i^*jP=$E==f=^=E= 


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It's   the  same   as    when    a      bald    man          Finds    a    comb    up  -  on     the     high  -  way. 

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<,^       _!"-!  I .  __"_".'_ j    ..«F 


Cuonuj* 


The     <*u  -  ca  -  rafh    -  a,      the    cu   -  ca  -  rach  -  a  Does -n't    want    to     trav  -  el 


:— ^- 


on       Bc-causc  she  has  -  n't  Oh,  no,  she  has  -  n't          Ma  -  ri-  hua-na  for    to  smoke. 


:=3Er£^*~===  -V^^* 

-"l~  •  r~? 


^=^=^ 


LA  CDCARACHA 


1  Cuando  uno  quiere  a  una 
Y  esta  una  no  lo  quiere, 

Es  lo  mismo  que  si  un  calvo 
En  la  calle  encuentr'  un  peine. 

Chorus: 

La  cucaracha,  la  cucaracha, 
Ya  no  quieres  caminar, 
Porque  no  tienes, 
Porque  le  falta, 
Marihuana  que  fumar. 

2  Las  muchachas  son  de  oro; 
Las  casadas  son  de  plata; 
Las  viudas  son  de  cobre, 
Y  las  viejas  oja  de  lata. 

3  Mi  vecina  de  enfrente 
Se  llamaba  Dofia  Clara, 
Y  si  no  habia  rauerto 
Es  probable  se  llamara. 

4  Las  muchachas  de  Las  Vegas 
Son  muy  altas  y  delgaditas, 
Pero  son  mas  pedigueftas 
Que  las  an i mas  benditas. 

5  Las  muchachas  de  la  villa 
No  saben  ni  dar  un  beso, 
Cuando  las  de  Albuquerque 
Hasta  estiran  el  pescuezo. 

6  Las  muchachas  Mexicanas 
Son  lindas  como  una  flor, 
Y  hablan  tan  dulcemente 
Que  encantan  de  amor. 

7  Una  cosa  me  da  risa  — 
Pancho  Villa  sin  camisa. 
Ya  se  van  los  Carranzistas 
Porque  vienen  los  Villistas. 

8  Necesita  autom6vil 
Par'  hacer  la  caminata 
Al  lugar  a  donde  mand6 
La  convenei6n  Zapata. 


When  a  fellow  loves  a  maiden 
And  that  maiden  doesn't  love  him, 
It's  the  same  as  when  a  bald  man 
Finds  a  comb  upon  the  highway. 

Chorus: 

The  cucaracha,  the  cucaracha, 
Doesn't  want  to  travel  on 
Because  she  hasn't, 
Oh  no,  she  hasn't, 
Marihuana  for  to  smoke. 

All  the  maidens  arc  of  pure  gold; 
All  the  married  girls  arc  silver; 
All  the  widows  are  of  copjxT, 
And  old  women  merely  tin. 

My  neighbor  across  the  highway 
Used  to  be  called  Dofia  Clara, 
And  if  she  has  not  expired 
Likely  that's  her  name  tomorrow. 

All  the  girls  up  at  Las  Vegas 

Arc  most  awful  tall  and  skinny, 

But  they're  worse  for  plaintive  pleading 

Than  the  souls  in  Purgatory. 

All  the  girls  here  in  the  city 
Don't  know  how  to  give  you  kisses, 
While  the  ones  from  Albuquerque 
Stretch  their  necks  to  avoid  misses. 

All  the  girls  from  Mexico 
Are  as  pretty  as  a  flower 
And  they  talk  so  very  sweetly, 
Fill  your  heart  quite  up  with  love. 

One  thing  makes  me  laugh  most  hearty  - 
Pancho  Villa  with  no  shirt  on 
Now  the  Carranzistas  beat  it 
Because  Villa's  men  are  coming. 

Fellow  needs  an  automobile 
If  he  undertakes  the  journey 
To  the  place  to  which  Zapata 
Ordered  the  famous  convention. 


291 


MANANITAS    (de  Jalisco) 
(EARLY  MORNINGS)   (from  Jalisco) 

Verses  and  air  were  published  in  Mexican  Folkways.     Luis  Moroues,  violinist  and  Chicagoan, 
made  a  literal  translation  which  was  freely  rendered  by  Louis  Untermeyer,  poet  and  New  Yorker. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


—  £- P ^ ^ l4- 

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— pzq 


(1)  The      day    that  iny  dear   came    to      us,  The 


ron       to     -     das    las      flo     res,  el  dfa  en  que          tu        na  -  cis  -  te          can  -  ta  • 


jflow'rswcre   a -born -ing,    too;  The    day  that  my  dear  came    to      us,  The 


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y  - 1*—  * U-  -g— ^  — F1- — - 

ron  los         rui  -  sc  -  fio-  rc>s. 


^3E-P=g!$=ggE 


(HKFKAIN) 


Ya        vie-  ne  a  ma  -ne-cien  -  do    ya     la 


night-in -gales  trilled  their  songs. 


Sun    -  rise    is  com-ing,is  com   -   ing,  The 


yfc\£__«e: 

%£~ 


MANANTTAS 


^-s  £•  g-£  c  e  ig'g  g'g  c  "E 


luz    del  dfa       nosvi6,  ya  dis- pier-ta  a-mi  -  ga  mia         mi-raque     yaa-ma  -  ne  -  ci6. 


c     Ld 


i 


sun   has  seen  us,my  dear,  A     -      rise,  my  lit  -  tie  friend.      Look,  day         light    is    here. 


1  £1  dfa  en  que  tu  naciste 
nacieron  todas  las  flores, 
el  dfa  en  que  tu  naciste 
cantaron  los  ruiseftores. 

Refrain: 

Ya  viene  a  maneciendo, 
ya  la  luz  del  dfa  nos  vi6, 
ya  dispierta  amiga  uifa 
mira  que  ya  amaneci6. 

2  Quisiera  ser  solecito 

para  entrar  por  tu  ventana, 


y  darte  los  buenos  dfas 
acostadita  en  tu  cama. 

3  For  la  luna  doy  un  peso, 
por  el  sol  doy  un  tost6n, 
por  mi  amiga  Marianita, 
la  vida  y  el  coraz6n. 

4  I)e  las  estrellas  del  cielo 
quisiera  hajarte  dos, 
una  para  saludarte 

y  otra  pa  deeirte  adi6s. 


EARLY  MORNINGS 

(English  version  by  Louis  Untermeyer) 


1  The  day  that  my  dear  came  to  us, 
The  flow'rs  were  a-borning  too; 
The  day  that  my  dear  came  to  us, 
The  nightingales  trilled  their  songs. 

Refrain: 

Sunrise  is  coming,  is  coming, 
The  sun  has  seen  us,  my  dear, 
Arise,  my  little  friend, 
Look,  day-light  is  here. 

2  If  I  were  a  yellow  sunray 
I'd  sparkle  about  your  head 


And  flicker  a  bright  "Good  Morning" 
Before  you  were  out  of  bed. 

3  For  the  moon  I'd  give  a  dollar 
For  the  sun  a  guinea  of  gold, 
For  my  sweet  friend  Marianita 
I'd  give  my  heart  and  soul. 

4  From  all  the  stars  in  heaven 
I'd  like  to  bring  down  two; 

With  the  one  I'd  say,  "How  are  you?" 
With  the  other,  "Good  bye  to  you.0 


£98 


LO  QUE  DIGO 


Mexican  Folkways,  the  magazine  so  ably  and  humanly  edited  by  Frances  Toor  in  Mexico 
City,  published  the  lyric  lines  and  lovely  air  of  this  song.  Luis  Morones,  violinist  and  Chicagoan, 
presented  the  variant  given  here,  as  he  heard  it  and  sang  it  when  a  youth  in  Jalisco,  Mexico.  There, 
he  informs  us,  it  was  known  as  the  Venadito  Song,  venadito  meaning  little  deer  or  offspring  of  parent 
deer.  By  many  it  is  considered  a  characteristic  specimen  and  a  superb  instance  of  the  Latin- Ameri- 
can love  song. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

& 


it 
Lo     que      di  -  go  dc  hoy    en      di    -    a,     Lo      que    di  -  go      lo     sos  -  ten     -    go, 

te~~ "i naj^B  isT 

mp     3*  \*  1*  5J 

H= 

t~f-  ~~   "  --—--.   -  1. 

|.   )  „  _-.  ^ 

.  * 

Yo     no    ven-  go  a  ver     si    pue  -  do,   Yo    no  ven-  go  a  ver    si    peu  -  do,  Yo     no 

<- 
<• 

•par. 

r>.:_tt££^  •-"::-- tt- 

go  a     ver       si      pue  -   do,       Si  -    no       por  -  que    pue  -    do,    ven    -    go.     .     . 

iE=EpEZ3B^p^^-*rt 
&         ^       iliH— ^-y^7 

-  T~P~ 

it^ L  _.pT [--•&— 


Ix)  que  digo  de  hoy  en  dla, 
Ix>  que  digo  lo  sostengo, 
Yo  no  ven  go  a  ver  si  puedo, 
Yo  no  ven  go  a  ver  si  puedo, 
Yo  no  vengo  a  ver  si  puedo, 
Sino  porque  puedo,  vengo. 


1 


From  Jalisco 
What  I  will  say  today 
I  shall  always  maintain, 
I  do  not  come  to  see, 
I  do  not  come  to  see, 
I  do  not  come  to  see, 
If  I  can,  only  because  I  can*  I  come. 


294 


LO  QUE  DIGO 


£  Los  higos  y  las  naranjas 
En  el  drbol  se  maduran, 
Los  ojitos  que  se  queren, 
Los  ojitos  que  se  queren, 
Los  ojitos  que  se  queren, 
Dende  lejos  se  saludan. 

3  Y  a  mf  me  saludaron 
Aquellos  que  estoy  mirundo, 
Sin  poderles  contestar, 

Sin  ix)derles  contestar, 
Sin  poderles  contestar, 
Su  mama"  me  estii  mirando. 

4  A  las  once  de  la  noche 
Alld  te  cspero  en  el  Kiosco, 
Pa  que  sepas  que  te  quero, 
Pa  que  sepas  que  te  quero, 
Pa  que  sepas  que  te  quero, 
Y  el  miedo  no  lo  conozco. 


fc  Figs  and  oranges 
In  the  tret*  mature, 
Little  eyes  that  love  each  other, 
Little  eyes  that  love  each  other, 
Little  eyes  that  love  each  other, 
From  afar  they  say  "Hello!" 

8  And  they  said  hello  to  me, 
Those  little  eyes,  I  sec, 
I  can  not  answer  though, 
I  can  not  answer  though, 
I  can  not  answer  though, 
For  mother  is  watching. 

4  At  eleven  o'clock  tonight 

I  shall  ho  waiting  in  the  Kiosco 
You  will  know  I  love  you, 
You  will  know  I  love  you, 
You  will  know  I  love  you, 
And  fear  I  do  not  know. 


EL    AHANDONADO 
MEXICAN   FOLK  SONG 

"The  love  song  is  by  far  the  most  common  of  all  Mexican  folk-songs.  During  the  trail  driving 
days  many  of  the  cowboys  who  drove  herds  from  Southern  Texas  to  Kansas  and  beyond  were  Mexi- 
cans. I  have  often  asked  old  trail  drivers  if  the  raqncros  had  any  such  songs  as  the  Texas  cowboy  H 
had.  Invariably  the  answer  has  been  that  the  vaqueros  sang  little  efoe  but  love  songs.0  Thus 
wrote  Frank  J.  Dobie,  Secretary  of  the  Texas  Folk  Ix>rc  Society,  in  No.  tt  of  the  publications  of  that 
organization.  Of  El  Abandonado  he  wrote  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  all  Mexican  songs, 
"is  sung  wherever  Mexicans  live,"  and  is  representative  "of  that  large  body  of  Mexican  love  songs 
to  be  heard  day  and  night  whether  in  camp  or  at  fiesta.'*  Each  verse  here  is  given  in  Mexican, 
followed  by  free  translation  into  English,  as  presented  by  Dobie. 


Lento  mapflfcofio 


Arr.  R.  II. 


EL  ABANDONADO 


do     -     rias  -  tcs,     urn  -  jer, 


HI  -t -_--  — 


cpje 


soy        muy     po  -  brc     ...  Y        la  des       -      gra      -      cia 


-    -r _-.--_.         -     -       -f J ..-& 4—. 

1      I1       a  '  ''''I  r*'      -    -'-*  ~\  gf'-*--  -^.'--'  -  I-  -.— iTl.'i^'  I 

?_.          •**"          -*5-  -i**-          I  V  X  '  X  «^ 


"g. 


es          wr    Iio.n  -  brc          a 


pa     -     sion  -  a  -  do.  Pues  q\\6  he     de 


x — x— i 


296 


EL  ABANDONADO 


f     f     f  f 

i      I       LJ  " 


-j-; :•;. 


ha 


cer, 


si     yo    soy      el  a  -  ban    -    do  -  na  -  do?   .     . 


Pues    qu6  he  de      ha  -  cer,          se     -     rd    por  el      a 


P    - 
inor 


<le    Dios. 


4  j 

|  — f         »•-•  I  — *.       —4-       _L 

L       -+-$>•      '   *• 


1  Me  abandonastes,  miijcr,  ponjue  soy  muy  pobre 
Y  la  desgraeia  es  ser  liombre  apasionado. 

Pucs  qu6  he  dc  hacer,  si  yo  soy  el  abandonado? 
Pues  qu6  he  de  haccr,  sent  jx>r  el  amor  de  Dios. 

You  abandon  me,  woman,  because  I  am  very  poor;  the  misfortune  is  to  be  a  man  of  passionate 
devotion.  Then,  what  am  I  to  do  if  I  am  the  abandoned  one?  Well,  whatever  I  am  to  do  will  be 
done  by  the  will  of  God. 

2  Tres  vicios  tengo,  los  tres  tengo  adoptados: 
El  ser  borracho,  jugador,  y  cnamorado. 
Pues  qu6  he  de  hacer  si  soy  el  abandonado? 
Pues  qu6  he  dc  hacer,  serii  por  el  amor  de  Dios. 

Three  vices  I  have  cultivated:  drunkenness,  gambling,  and  love.  Then  what  am  I  to  do  if  I 
am  the  abandoned  one?  Well,  whatever  I  am  to  do  will  be  done  by  the  will  of  God. 

3  Pero  ando  ingrato  si  con  mi  amor  no  quedo; 

Tal  vez  otro  hombre  con  su  amor  se  habrd  jugado. 
Pues  qu6  he  de  hacer,  si  soy  el  abandonado? 
Pues  qu£  he  de  hacer,  serd  por  el  amor  de  Dio«. 

But  I  go  unhappy  if  with  my  love  I  cannot  remain.  Perhaps  another  man  has  toyed  with  her 
love.  Then  what  am  I  to  do  if  I  am  the  abandoned  one?  Well,  whatever  I  am  to  do  will  be  done 

by  the  will  of  God. 

297 


CIELITO  LINDO 


In  the  southwestern  states  on  the  Mexican  border  are  a  million  or  more  citkena'of  the  United 
States,  having  Latin,  North  American  Indian,  or  Nordic  mother  tongues,  who  sing  Cielito  Lindo 
only  in  Spanish.  The  text  and  tune  here  are  from  Luis  Morones  of  Chicago,  in  the  version  most 
familiar  to  him  since  birth  and  education  in  Mexico,  and  residence  in  border  states. 


Con  moto,  ma  tramjuillo 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

^-^^^gj=jbf=P=^jfe^^is^^^ 

I)c      la      Si    -  c      -      rra  Mo  -  ro  -  na,      Cie    -     li   -  to    Lin  -  do,     Vie    -  ncn    ba  - 


___4— ^  -,—-4 

.__         -—  ,  ~  .        -         j 


E ~3    J    ;" ;  al^ 

"    *        * 


Leggiensswio  ^=—: 


jan  -  do     .     . 


un    par      do       o  -  ji  -  tos      nc  -  gros     Cie      -       li  -   to 


CHORUS 


^^ 


Lin  -  do       de     .       Con  -  tra   -  ban  -  do.     ... 


iAy, 


Ay,      Ay, 


CIKUTO  UNDO 


J.     j.J, 


m 


Ay!     .     .     . 
* 


Can 


ta  y       no     llo  -  res,     ,     . 


per  -  quc  can  -  tan- 


•<F»      «  T1-^       HF-  V^^X  N^__^X  >••»».  •  •  • 


^ L4====n4r^=rr=t 

rr     1-^==%  — --P^ 

ft^  T=£  ^**  -^ 


^^^=gi?M^ 


do  se  a  -  le  -  gran    Cie     -     li  -  to    Lin  -  do      los  co  -  ra  -  zo  -  nes.    ,=r 


1  De  la  sierra  morena, 

cielito  lindo, 

vicnen  bajando 

un  par  de  ojitos  negros 

cielilo  lindo 

dc  contrabando. 

Chorus: 

jAy,  ay,  ay,  ay! 

canta  y  no  llores, 

porque  cantando  sc  alcgran 

cielito  lindo 

los  corazones. 

2  Una  flecha  en  el  aire 

cielito  lindo 

Ianz6  Cupido 

y  co  mo  fu<5  jugando, 

cielito  lindo, 

yo  fuf  el  herido. 

S  Pdjaro  que  abandona 
cielito  lindo 
su  primer  nido, 


vuolvo  y  lo  halla  ocupado 

cielito  lindo 

y  rnuy  mcrccido. 

4  Eae  lunar  que  ticnea 
cielito  lindo 
junto  a  la  lxx*a, 
no  He  lo  den  a  nadie 
cielito  lindo, 
que  a  ml  ino  toca, 

6  Todas  las  iluciones 
cielito  lindo 
que  el  amor  fragua, 
son  como  las  espumas 
cielito  lindo 
que  forma  el  agua. 

jAy,  ay,  ay,  ay! 

sub(»n  y  rrecen 

y  con  el  rni.smo  viento 

cielito  lindo, 

desaparecen, 


299 


ADELITA 

The  simple  song  of  Adelita  is  widely  known  in  the  Southwest,  survives  time  and  usage,  and 
takes  added  vitality  from  the  infusion  of  new  verses.  I  have  heard  it  from  the  box-car  bunk-houses 
of  Mexican  railroad  workers  in  Elmhurst,  Illinois,  and  from  a  singing  guitar  player  who  passed  the 
hat  in  the  Mexican  quarter  in  Los  Angeles,  California.  I  heard  the  Mayor  of  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico, 
one  afternoon  command  ten  of  his  constituents  and  subjects  to  sing  it  in  unison  and  in  Spanish  — 
which  they  did.  .  .  .  The  text  and  air  here  are  from  F.  S.  Curtis,  Jr.,  who  notes  that  with  the  possible 
exception  of  stanzas  1  and  5,  it  is  distinctly  Mexican  in  subject  matter.  "The  number  of  stanzas 
available  is  very  nearly  unlimited.  The  version  given  here  was  selected  because  there  is  a  reasonable 
amount  of  connection  between  the  stanzas." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Con  inoto,  ma  con  eHpromione 


A   -  de    -   11    -    la's    the    name      of     the      la    -    dy   .  .     Who    was    mis  -  tress      of 
mft 

"la. ".""r3^"  ~T ~ ~~~  -  ,  —  p~~~ 


all      my    pleas  -  ures     here. 


Nev  -  er    think        I     can   come        to      for  - 


.j     ^":a^^j~ 

^r^ 


get         her,  .  .        Nor      to    change  her     for       an   -   y      oth  -   er        dear.     .     .     . 


300 


ADEUTA 


1  Adelita  se  llama  la  ingrata, 
La  qu*  era  duefia  de  todo  mi  placer. 
Nunca  piensas  que  llegue  a  olvidarla 
Nl  cambiarla  por  otra  mujer. 

£  Si  Adelita  quisiera  ser  mi  esposa, 
Si  Adelita  fuera  mi  mujer, 
Le  comprarfa  un  vestido  de  seda 
Y  la  llevara  a  pasear  el  cuartel. 

3  Ya  me  llama  el  clarfn  de  campafia 
Como  soldado  valiente  a  pelear. 
Correrrd  por  los  calles  la  sangre 
Pero  olvidarte  jamas  me  ver&. 

4  Si  acaso  yo  muero  en  campafia 

Y  mi  cadaver  en  la  tierra  va  a  quedar, 

Adelita,  por  Dos  te  la  ruego 

Que  por  mf  muerte  tu  vayas  a  llorar. 

5  Adelita  es  una  fronteriza 

Con  ojos  verdes,  color  de  la  mar, 
Que  trae  locos  a  todos  los  hombrcs 
Y  a  todos  les  hace  llorar. 

6  Si  Adelita  se  fuere  con  otro 
La  seguirfa  la  huella  sin  cesar, 
En  aeroplanes  y  buques  de  guerra 
Y  por  tierra  hast'  en  tren  militar. 


Adelita's  the  name  of  the  lady 
Who  was  the  mistress  of  all  my  pleasures  here. 
Never  think  I  can  come  to  forget  her, 
Nor  to  change  her  for  any  other  dear. 

If  Adelita  would  take  me  for  a  husband, 
If  Adelita  would  only  be  my  wife, 
I  would  buy  her  a  costume  of  satin 
And  I'd  give  her  a  taste  of  barracks  life. 

Now  the  trumi>ct  to  battle  does  call  me 
To  fight  as  every  valiant  soldier  should. 
In  the  streets  then  the  blood  will  be  running, 
But  'twill  never  see  me  forget  thcc. 

If  j>crhaps  I  should  die  in  the  battle, 
And  my  poor  corpse  be  left  upon  the  field, 
Adelita,  for  God's  sake  I  pray  thec 
For  my  death  thou  wilt  shed  but  one  tear. 

Adelita's  a  desperate  coquette 
With  deep  green  eyes,  the  color  of  the  sea, 
Who  drives  all  the  men  to  distraction 
And  makes  them  all  weep  bitterly. 

Should  Adelita  run  of!  with  another, 
I'd  trail  her  always,  forever,  near  and  far, 
Both  in  airplanes  and  ships  of  the  navy, 
And  on  land  in  a  military  train. 


VERSOS  DE  MONTALGO 

"In  the  year  1900,  Encarnacion  Garcia  waylaid  and  killed  another  Mexican  in  Cameron  County. 
Montalgo,  a  Mexican  deputy  sheriff,  rode  up  on  Encarnacion  as  the  latter  was  burying  his  victim. 
Kncarnadori  resisted  arrest,  or  at  least  Montalgo  always  so  claimed,  and  Montalgo  killed  him.  Ten 
years  later  to  a  day,  Kricarnacion's  genie  got  their  revenge  by  killing  Montalgo."  Thus  Frank  J. 
Dohie,  of  the  Texas  Folk  Ix>rc  Society,  gives  in  brief  the  facts  leading  to  this  ballad  in  its  opening 
verses.  As  to  the  closing  stanzas  he  notes,  "Sandoval  had  a  little  ranch  and  herded  goats.  He  sang 
this  song  to  rny  brother  and  presumably  had  composed  it,  certainly  the  last  three  stanzas.  San- 
doval came  up  to  the  (iranjeno  gate  while  the  crowd  were  viewing  the  restos  of  Montalgo.  Hino- 
josa,  a  deputy  sheriff  from  Brownsville,  came  up,  did  nothing  about  the  murder  but  arrested  poor 
old  Swidoval  for  killing  the  vcnaditoji"  .  .  .  "These  people  of  Manoa"  refers  to  a  family  of  Mexicans 
that  owned  a  little  ranch  near  by;  they  were  in  sympathy  with  the  sisters  of  the  murdered  Mon- 
talgo; authorities  at  Brownsville  deputized  the  head  of  the  Manoa  family  to  act  as  sheriff.  .  .  . 
Kdal  in  the  first  stanza  "seems  to  be  a  Mcxicanisrn  not  recorded  in  the  dictionaries,"  Dobie  notes. 
Alma/un  is  u  ranch  west  of  Lyford.  Kl  puerto  (masculine)  is  irregularly  used  for  la  puerta  (feminine) 
in  the  fourth  and  sixth  stanzas;  there  seems  to  lie  authority  for  such  interchange  of  usage  in  Spanish 
manuscripts  dating  as  far  back  as  1700.  .  .  .  "Versos"  Dobie  also  notes,  "as  understood  and  used 
by  Texas  Mexicans,  are  songs  or  verses,  of  folk  composition  in  contradistinction  to  canciones*  songs 
derived  from  more  or  less  literary  purveyors,  though  cannon  (song  or  ballad)  is  also  frequently 
applied  to  verses  of  loeal  composition.  For  Versos  de  Montalgo  I  am  indebted  to  my  brother,  Elrich 
H.  Dobie,  who  learned  them  while  he  was  caporal  (boss  of  a  cow  outfit)  on  the  King  Ranch  in  South 
Texas,  1016-1917.  He  says  the  vaqueros  frequently  made  up  songs  on  local  happenings.  A  white 
maverick  bull  killed  two  or  three  horses  and  had  to  be  shot.  A  Mexican  made  up  a  song  on  the 
subject  and  for  a  while  it  was  widely  sung  by  the  King  Ilanch  Mexicans.  A  raid,  a  killing,  a  ladino 
(outlaw)  horse  or  steer,  a  stampede,  a  daring  rider —  these  are  characteristic  themes  for  vaquero 
improvisation.**  .  .  .  The  following  is  one  of  several  stories  of  Lost  Ballads  that  Frank  Dobie  tells: 
"In  the  summer  of  1!KM,  I  was  with  Captain  Will  Wright's  rangers,  when  they  raided  a  band  of 
tequila  .smugglers  on  the  Nueces  River  in  La  Salle  County.  It  was  an  interesting  raid;  one  smuggler 
had  to  be  killed  and  over  a  thousand  quarts  of  tequila  were  captured.  I  am  told  that  a  very  long 
song  was  composed  on  the  subject,  in  which  certain  gringos,  including  myself,  are  not  very  well 
spoken  of.  Much  to  my  disappointment,  I  have  been  unable  to  hear  the  song  or  secure  a  copy 
of  it/1 


Arr.  R.  H. 


Allegro 


S02 


VERSOS  DE  MONTALGO 


m 


Bt 


^ 


En        el    mil  nueve  cien  -  tos  y  di  -ez —          Y          los 


euen     -     to    sin         e  -  dal- 

>TN 


if: 


A  Mon-tal  -  go      le      ma-ta-ron   Or    -  ea    del      ca  -  mi  -no    re-al. 

/t\ 


1  En  el  rail  nucvrc  cientos  y  diez 
Y  los  cuento  sin  eclal  — 

A  Montalgo  le  mataron 
Cerca  del  carnino  real. 

2  A  Montalgo  le  mataron, 
Le  mataron  sin  raz6n, 

A  los  diez  aftos  cumplidos 
Que  le  mat  6  a  Encarnaci6n. 

3  Lunes  en  la  mafiana 
Sali6  del  Almazan. 
Montalgo  no  sabfa 
Que  le  tciiian  su  plan. 

4  A  las  tres  sali6  de  Lyford 
En  su  caballo  bayito, 

En  el  Puerto  del  Granjeno 
Ahf  le  formaron  sitio. 


In  the  year  1010  —  and  I  give  the  date  with- 
out uncertainty  —  they  killed  Montalgo  near 
the  public  road. 


They  killed  Montalgo,  killed  him  without 
reason,  after  ten  years  had  passed  from  the 
time  he  killed  Encarnaci6n. 


Monday  in  the  morning  Montalgo  left  the 
Almazan.  He  did  not  know  that  there  was  a 
plot  against  him. 


At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  left 
Lyford  on  his  dun  horse.  At  the  gate  called 
Granjeno  his  enemies  had  laid  an  ambush. 


803 


VERSOS  DE  MONTALGO 


6  Cuanclo  Montalgo  cay  6, 
£1  malhecho  le  dec  fa: 
"No  te  asustan,  Montalgo; 
Pdgaste  lo  que  debfas." 

0  Y  perdido  estuvo  un  mes, 
Eso  dicen  por  cierto, 
Que  eri  el  Puerto  del  Granjeno 
Ahf  le  liallaron  rnuerto. 

7  Al  mes  hallaron  los  restos 
Envueltos  en  un  costal; 
Arriha  tenfan  hierba.s, 

Y  rna.s  arriha  nopal. 

8  Cuando  we  junt6  la  gente, 
E.stuvieron  mcdio  dfa; 

La  mayor  parte  decfa 
"jVAlgame  Diosf  <jcorno  serfa?' 

9  Las  Hermanns  de  Montalgo 
Lloruron  sin  companion 
"|C)h,  Montalgo,  to  mataron 
A  traicion!" 

10  Esta  gente  del  Manoa 
Ayudaron  de  corn 7,611; 
Y  a  las  scis  u  ocho  dfas 
Le  mandaron  eoniision. 

11  Al  pobrc  Sandoval 

Le  pegaron  sin  tuerea; 

Le  subieron  a  express 

Con  dos  vcnaditas  muertas. 

12  En  el  camino  arreglarou 
Con  el  seftor  Ilinojosa 
Con  veinticineo  moneas 
Que  le  dicron. 

13  El  que  eompuso  esos  versos 
No  sabfa  lo  que  decfa; 
Anda  va  cuidnndo  cnbras 
Que  no  se  corta  la  gufa. 


When  Montalgo  fell,  murder  said  to  him: 
"You  need  not  be  scared,  Montalgo;  pay  what 
you  owe." 


He  (that  is,  Montalgo's  body)  was  lost  for  a 
month.  This  is  said  for  a  certainty;  that  at 
the  Granjeno  gate  they  found  him  dead. 


At  the  end  of  a  month  they  found  the  remains 
wrapped  up  in  a  sack;  on  top  of  them  were 
weeds  and  on  top  of  the  weeds  prickly  pear  was 
piled. 

When  the  people  got  together,  they  remained 
assembled  for  half  a  day.  "Good  God!*'  most 
of  them  cried,  "how  did  this  come  about?*' 


Montalgo's  sisters  wept  most  piteously.  "Oh, 
Montalgo!"  they  cried,  "they  have  murdered 
you  through  treason." 


These  people  of  Manoa  out  of  a  good  heart 
helped  the  sisters.  In  six  or  eight  days  they 
(the  proper  authorities)  sent  him  (the  head  of 
the  Manoa  family)  a  commission. 

Poor  Sandoval  they  nabbed  without  hand- 
cuffs, and  hoisted  him  up  on  his  wagon  along 
with  two  little  deer  that  he  had  killed. 


On  the  road  they  fixed  it  up  with  Seftor  Hino- 
josa  by  paying  him  $£5. 


The  fellow  who  made  these  verses  did  not 
know  what  he  was  talking  about.  Let  him  care 
for  his  goats  and  see  that  some  bell-wether  does 
not  cut  off  with  a  bunch  of  them. 


804 


SOUTHERN  MOUNTAINS 


WAY    UP   ON   CLINCH    MOUNTAIN 

LIZA  IN  THE  SUMMER  TIME  (SHE  DIED  ON  THE  TRAIN) 

COON  CAN  (POOR  BOY) 

GYPSY  DAVY 

THE  ROVING  GAMBLER 

YONDER   COMES   MY    PRETTY    LITTLE   GIRL     . 

THE  GAMBOLING  MAN 

0  BURY  ME  BENEATH  THE  WILLOW    .... 
MAG'S  SONG 

THE  ORPHAN  GIRL  OR  NO  BREAD  FOR  THE  POOH   . 

1  GOT  A  GAL  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOLLER   . 

LONESOME  ROAD 

FOND  AFFECTION 

GO  BRING  ME  BACK  MY  BLUE-EYED  BOY  . 

LONDON  CITY 

THE  MIDNIGHT   TRAIN 

I   DON'T   LIKE   NO   RAILROAD   MAN  .... 


HARMONIZATION  BY 

Alfred  G.  W  alkali 
Alfred  0.  U'atliall 


Alfred  G.  WaUiall  .        . 

Lillian  Rosed  ale  Goodman 
Alfred  G.  Watltall  . 

Hazel  Felman 
Rutfi  Crawford 


Alfred  6\  Wathall  . 
Hazel  Felman 


PAQ« 

307 
.308 
310 
311 
312 
313 
313 
314 
316 
319 
3*0 
3** 
333 
3*4 
3*4 
3*5 
3*6 


805 


In  1917  I  met  Cecil  J.  Sharp,  Director  of  the  Stratford-upon-Avon  School  of  Folk  Lore  and 
Folk  Dancing.  He  was  at  Knoxville,  Tennessee,  just  back  from  the  mountains,  joyful  over  a  book 
full  of  new  ballads,  copied  down  as  people  had  sung  them  to  him.  "These  missionaries  with  their 
schools!"  he  exclaimed  indignantly.  "I'd  like  to  build  a  wall  around  these  mountains  and  let  the 
mountain  people  alone.  The  only  distinctive  culture  in  America  is  here.  These  people  live.  They 
sustain  themselves  on  the  meanest  food.  They  are  not  interested  in  eating,  but  they  have  time 
to  sing  ballads."  .  .  . 

When  these  people  emigrated  to  this  continent,  many  of  them  landed  at  Philadelphia  to  join 
Penn's  more  tolerant  colony.  Gradually  they  pushed  their  way  up  the  Cumberland  Valley  into 
Maryland,  then  up  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah  and  the  narrow  valleys  of  southwestern  Virginia. 
Then  they  pressed  beyond  the  Cumberland  Gap  arid  gradually  took  possession  of  the  great  region 
of  the  Southern  Appalachians.  As  Bishop  Burleson  well  puts  it: 

"Most  of  them  broke  through  the  barrier  of  the  mountains  and  founded  new  commonwealths 
in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  But  some  stopped  in  the  mountains.  A  horse  died,  a  cart  broke 
down,  a  young  couple  could  not  leave  the  little  grave  of  their  only  child;  fatigue,  illness,  the  lure 
of  the  mountains — now  it  was  one  thing  and  now  another;  but  when  the  host  had  passed,  there 
were  scattered  dwellings  being  reared  among  the  great  hills,  and  a  few  hundreds — progenitors  of 
many  thousands — had  Ircgun  a  course  of  life  which  was  to  continue  unchanged  for  generations. 
They  came  in  poor,  .  .  .  and  they  are  today  the  poorest  people  in  America.  As  in  all  races,  there 
are  different  grades  among  them,  ranging  from  the  fairly  well-to-do  farmers  along  the  river  valleys 
to  the  squatters  in  the  cabins  on  the  high  mountains,  where  the  cultivated  land  is  often  so  steep 
that  the  harvested  crops  can  only  be  brought  down  in  sleds."  ... 

Illiteracy  is  high  in  the  Southern  Highlands,  but  illiteracy  does  not  prove  anything  about  one's 
brain  capacity.  We  were  all  recently  illiterate,  and  furthermore,  gentlemen  are  born,  not  made 
with  print.  Friends  of  the  mountaineer  state  it  thus: 

"It  is  the  fatal  fallacy  of  a  public-schooled  world  that  literacy  is  counted  the  earmark  of  civi- 
lisation. The  keenest  intelligence,  the  sweetest  behavior,  the  most  high-born  distinction  of  manner 
are  gifts  of  the  gods  to  those  who  can  neither  read  nor  write.  A  dear  friend  once  said:  *We-uns 
that  cain't  read  or  write  have  a  heap  of  time  to  think,  and  that's  the  reason  we  know  more  than 
you-all.'" 

"  If  the  time  ever  comes  when  the  requirements  for  citizenship  are  based  on  intelligence  rather 
than  on  information,  perhaps  these  |>eople  will  make  a  better  showing  than  the  multitude  in  cities 
who  have  just  enough  education  to  read  the  sporting  pages  of  the  newspapers." 

J.  RUSSELL  SMITH  in  North  America. 


806 


WAY  UP  ON  CLINCH  MOUNTAIN 

This  song  has  a  thousand  verses,  perhaps  going  back  to  the  Scotch  of  the  17th  century,  we  are 
told.  It  is  the  daddy,  probably,  of  many  of  the  Lulu  songs.  There  is  poetry,  now  wayward,  now 
wild,  in  these  stanzas,  of  moods  like  Robert  Burns  and  like  Provencal  balladists  of  France.  Usually 
singers  keep  to  one  tune  throughout  but  I  have  heard  singers  make  their  independent  variations  with 
some  stanzas.  At  its  best  it  delivers  a  character  and  parts  of  a  life  story. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


j  ^     m 


WayuponClinchMountain,Iwandera-lone;  I'masdrunkasthedev-il,  Oh,  let  me  a-lone! 


1  Way  up  on  Clinch  Mountain, 

I  wander  alone; 
I'm  as  drunk  as  the  devil, 
Oh,  let  me  alone! 

2  I'll  eat  when  I'm  hungry, 

En  drink  when  I'm  dry; 
If  whisky  don't  kill  me, 
I'll  live  till  I  die. 

5  Jack  o'  diamonds,  jack  o*  diamonds, 

I  know  you  of  old, 
You  rob  my  jx>or  pockets, 
Of  silver  and  gold. 

B 


3  Rye  whisky,  rye  whisky, 

I  know  you  of  old, 
You  roh  my  poor  pockets 
Of  silver  and  gold. 

4  Rye  whisky,  rye  whisky, 

You're  no  friend  to  me. 
You  killed  my  old  daddy, 
God  damn  you,  try  me. 


& 


Way  up  on  Clinch  Mountain  where  the  wild  geese  fly  high,  I'll  think  of  little  Allie  en   lay  down  en  die. 


1  Way  up  on  Clinch  Mountain  where  the  wild    2  You  may  boast  of  yore  knowledge,  cri  brag  o* 

geese  fly  high,  yore  sense, 

I'll  think  of  little  Allie  en  lay  down  en  die.  Twill  all  be  forgotten  a  hundred  years  hence. 

8  Oh  Lulu,  oh  Lulu,  oh  Lulu,  my  dear, 

I'd  give  the  whole  world  if  my  Lulu  was  hyer. 
307 


LIZA  IN  THE  SUMMER  TIME  (She  Died  on  the  Train) 


The  arrangement  of  air  and  words  here  is  based  on  a  song  heard  by  Charles  Rockwood  of 
Geneva,  Illinois,  during  a  residence  in  North  Carolina  mountains.  Lines  from  old  British  ballads 
mingle  with  mountaineer  lingo  as  in  the  word  "mountings;"  negro  influence  is  not  absent.  This 
may  be  an  instance  of  the  song  that  starts  among  people  who  have  a  tune,  who  want  to  sing,  who 
join  together  on  an  improvisation,  reaching  out  for  any  kind  of  verses,  inventing,  repeating,  marrying 
Scotch  lyrics  with  black-face  minstrel  ditties;  in  the  end  comes  a  song  that  pleases  them  for  their 
purposes.  Its  mood  varies  here  from  the  lugubrious  to  the  light-hearted.  The  way  to  sing  it  is 

"as  you  like  it." 

Air.  A.  G.  W. 


Li    -    za      in       the    sum -tm*r- time,        Li    -    za      in       the     fa.ll, 


-* it. 

r^k^ijg 


J. 

^ 


can't        be     IA    -      za     all         the    timo,         I       won't       be     Li     -      za    'tall. 


5  r  

~^~ 

h-i=J  — 

—  4  

^  LJ 

+  

.J.                <* 

TT 

^ 

5^j 

CHORUS: 


IV  liT    Li-za,  po'    gal,      po'   li'l'     Li  -  za  Jane,     Pof     HT    Li  -  za,    po'    HT 


308 


LIZA  IN  THE  SUMMKH  TIME 


she    died     on       the  train,      She     died      on      the  train,      she.    died      on       the  train* 


1  Liza  in  the  summer  time,  Liza  in  the  fall, 

If  I  can't  be  Liza  all  the  time,  I  won't  be  Liza  't  all. 

Chorus:  IV  HT  Liza,  p<>*  gal,  po'  liT  Liza  Jane, 

Po'  liT  Liza,  po*  HT  gal,  she  died  on  the  train, 
She  died  on  the  train,  she  died  on  the  train. 

2  When  I  go  up  in  the  mountings  and  give  my  horn  a  blow, 

I  think  I  hear  my  true  love  say,  "  Yonder  comes  my  beau." 

Chorus:  Po'  liT  Liza,  etc. 

3  I  wish  I  had  my  needle  and  thread  fine  as  I  can  sew, 

I'd  sew  my  true  love  to  my  side  and  down  the  road  we'd  go. 

Chorus:  Po'  HT  Liza,  etc. 

4  Her  face  was  of  a  ruddy  hue,  her  hair  a  chestnut  brown. 

Her  eyes  were  like  a  thunder  cloud  before  the  lain  comes  down. 

Chorus:  Po'  liT  Liza,  etc. 


309 


COON  CAN  (POOR  BOY) 


Of  Fort  Smith,  Arkaasaa,  we  have  heard,  "  There  is  no  fort  there  and  they  have  forgotten  which 
Smith  it  was  named  after/'  It  is  a  town  where  they  sing  Coon  Can  and  Poor  Boy;  either  name  is 
correct,  according  to  Kate  Webber  of  Fort  Smith  and  Chicago,  who  communicated  the  tune  and 
one  verse,  other  verses  coming  by  fast  freight  with  no  demurrage  from  Jack  Hagerty  of  Los  Angeles. 
Its  moral  is  plain:  retribution  overtakes  the  wrongdoer;  years  in  the  penitentiary  are  long.  Folk 
songs  are  often  like  this;  they  leave  the  hearer  to  piece  out  the  story.  .  .  .  The  boy  is  found 
guilty  of  killing  a  woman.  Why  lie  killed  her,  his  excuses,  and  explanations,  are  not  told.  There 
must  have  been  extenuating  circumstances,  or  the  jury  was  impressed  by  the  youthful  aspect  of  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar,  in  addition  to  the  mother's  testimony  that  he  was  always  a  good  boy. 


My  rnoth-er  called  me  to  her  deuth-bed  side,  These  words  she  said    to    me: ....        If 


"TTT  f*  r  *" 

you     don't      mend  your  rov  -    in'  ways     They'll  put    you  in  the    pen    -    i- ten -tia 


They'll  put     you  iu  the  pen    -    i  -  ten  -  tia  -  ry,    poor  boy,      They'll 


put       you  in   the  pen    -    i  -  ten-  tia-  ry; 


If         you     don't      mend  your 


Jf  JLJ.J3 


rr 

rov    -    in*  ways     They'll    put       you  in  the    pen    -    i  -  ten  -  tia  -  ry. 


1  My  mother  called  me  to  her  deathbed  side,  these  words  she  said  to  me: 
"If  your  don't  mend  your  rovin'  ways,  they'll  put  you  in  the  penitentiary, 
They'll  put  you  in  the  penitentiary,  poor  boy,  they'll  put  you  in  the  penitentiary, 
If  you  don't  mend  your  rovin'  ways,  they'll  put  you  in  the  penitentiary." 

8  I  sat  me  down  to  play  coon  can,  could  scarcely  read  my  hand, 
A  thinkin*  about  the  woman  I  loved,  ran  away  with  another  man. 
Ran  away  with  another  man,  poor  boy,  ran  away  with  another  man. 
I  was  thinkin'  about  the  woman  I  loved,  ran  away  with  another  man. 

910 


COON  CAN  (POOR  BOY) 

8  I'm  a  standin*  on  the  corner,  in  front  of  a  jewelry  store, 
Big  policeman  taps  me  on  the  back,  says,  "You  ain't  a  goin*  to  kill  no  more." 
Says,  "You  ain't  a  goin'  to  kill  no  more,  poor  boy,"  says,  "You  ain't  a  goin'  to  kill  no  more/ 
Big  policeman  taps  me  on  the  back,  says,  "You  ain't  a  goin'  to  kill  no  more." 

4  "Oh,  cruel,  kind  judge,  oh,  cruel,  kind  judge,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me?" 
"If  that  jury  finds  you  guilty,  poor  boy,  I'm  goin'  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary. 

I'm  goin'  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary,  poor  boy,  goin'  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary. 
If  that  jury  finds  you  guilty,  poor  boy,  I'm  goin'  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary." 

5  Well,  the  jury  found  him  guilty,  the  clerk  he  wrote  it  down, 

The  judge  pronounced  his  sentence,  poor  boy;  ten  long  years  in  Himtsville  town. 
Ten  long  years  in  Himtsville  town,  poor  boy,  ten  long  years  in  Huntsville  town; 
The  judge  pronounced  his  sentence,  poor  boy,  ten  long  years  in  Huntsville  town. 

6  The  iron  gate  clanged  behind  him,  he  heard  the  warden  say, 

"Ten  long  years  for  you  in  prison,  poor  boy,  yes,  it's  ten  long  years  for  you  this  day. 
Ten  long  years  for  you  in  prison,  poor  boy,  yes,  it's  ten  long  years  this  day." 
As  the  iron  gate  clanged  behind  him,  that's  what  he  heard  the  warden  say. 


GYPSY  DAVY 

A  fragment  of  an  old  ballad  lives  on  in  versions  of  two  verses  or  ten,  with  many  varying  accounts 
of  what  happened  between  the  two  men  and  the  one  woman. 


rjHA=+f^ 


4: 


3: 


I       was    a    high  -  born  gen -tie -man,    She    was    a    high-born    la     -     dy,    We 


lived  in    the    pal  -  ace  great  and  tail.    Till  she  met  with     Gyp  -ay      Da    -    vy. 


1  I  was  a  high-born  gentleman, 
She  was  a  high-bora  lady. 
We  lived  in  a  palace  great  and  tall, 
Till  she  met  with  Gypsy  Davy. 


Last  night  she  slept  in  a  goose-feather  bed, 
With  her  arms  around  her  baby. 

To-night  she  lies  in  the  cold,  cold  ground 
In  the  arms  of  her  Gypsy  Davy. 


911 


THE  ROVING  GAMBLER 

Girls  with  a  wild  streak,  in  the  farther  yesterdays,  often  lost  their  hearts  to  the  man  in  dapper 
clothes,  with  a  big  gold  watch-chain  across  his  vest,  and  with  plenty  of  money.  ("I  don't  care 
where  he  gets  it.")  That  the  man  was  a  stranger  in  town,  that  he  was  a  gambler,  that  he  introduced 
himself  saying,  "Corne  with  me,  girlie"  —  were  points  in  favor  of  his  audacity,  nerve.  Such  a 
couple,  jack  and  queen,  are  briefly  sketched  in  this  song.  The  later  chapters,  whether  she  had  to 
take  in  washing,  whether  he  was  converted  at  a  religious  revival  and  set  himself  up  in  a  respectable 
business,  we  do  not  know.  There  is  a  swing  and  self-assurance  to  the  tune  and  words,  the  swagger 
of  the  old-tirne  minstrel  troupe  going  down  Main  Street  arid  around  the  public  square,  led  by  the 
high-hat  drum-major  holding  aloft  a  long  baton  with  a  golden  ball  gleaming  on  the  end.  In  the 
mischievous,  Yonder  Comes  My  Pretty  Little  Girl,  text  B,  is  an  authentic  folk  song  found  by 
R.  W.  Gordon  on  a  southern  tour.  From  Delancy's  Songbook  No.  23,  we  give  the  text  C,  with 
repeated  lines  eliminated,  of  a  piece  called  The  Gamboling  Man.  This  is  evidently  the  popular 
song  of  English  origin  from  which  the  southern  and  western  minstrel  troupes  made  their  verses, 
Delaney  tells  us.  We  may  note,  in  passing,  that  while  gamblers  may  gambol  and  gambolers  may 
gamble,  the  English  version  carries  no  deck  of  cards. 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


„        t    t        .„ 
('on  moto,  tranqiiuu* 


^ 


£ 


"W " p p 

ing    gam  -  bier,          I've  gam  -  bled      all         a  -  round,     Wher- 


•    r 


a 


£ 


poco  rit. 


m 


1 


^ 


ev  -  er       I     meet    with    a    deck    of       cards       I        lie      my      mon  -  ey     down. 


1  I  am  a  roving  gambler,  I've  gambled  all  around, 
Wherever  I  meet  with  a  deck  of  cards  I  lie  my  money  down. 

%  I've  gambled  down  in  Washington  and  I've  gambled  over  in  Spain; 
I  am  on  my  way  to  Georgia  to  knock  down  my  last  game. 

8  I  had  not  been  in  Washington  many  more  weeks  than  three, 
Till  I  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  little  girl  and  she  fell  in  love  with  me. 

313 


THE  ROVING  GAMBLER 

4  She  took  me  in  her  parlor,  she  cooled  me  with  her  fan, 

She  whispered  low  in  her  mother's  ears,  "I  love  this  gambling  man!'* 

5  "O  daughter,  O  dear  daughter,  how  could  you  treat  me  so, 
To  leave  your  dear  old  mother  and  with  a  gambler  go?" 

6  "O  mother,  O  dear  mother,  you  know  I  love  you  well, 

But  the  love  I  hold  for  this  gambling  man  no  human  tongue  can  tell. 

7  "I  wouldn't  marry  a  farmer,  for  he's  always  in  the  rain; 

The  man  I  want  is  the  gambling  man  who  wears  the  big  gold  chain. 

8  "I  wouldn't  marry  a  doctor,  he  is  always  gone  from  home: 
All  I  want  is  the  gambling  man,  for  he  won't  leave  me  alone. 

9  "I  wouldn't  marry  a  railroad  man,  and  this  is  the  reason  why; 
I  never  seen  a  railroad  man  that  wouldn't  tell  his  wife  a  lie. 

10  "I  hear  the  train  a -coming,  she's  coming  around  the  curve, 
Whistling  and  a-blowing  and  straining  every  nerve. 

11  "O  mother,  O  dear  mother,  I'll  tell  you  if  I  can; 

If  you  ever  see  me  coming  back  again  I'll  be  with  the  gambling  man." 

B 
YONDER  COMES  MY  PRETTY  LITTLE  GIRL 

1  Yonder  comes  my  pretty  little  girl,  2  Yonder  comes  my  pretty  little  girl, 
She's  a-goin*  all  dressed  in  red.  How  do  you  know? 

I  looked  down  at  her  pretty  little  feet,  I  know  her  by  her  bright  apron  strings 

I  wish  my  wife  was  dead.  Hangin'  down  so  low. 

3  O,  I've  gambled  in  the  wildwoods, 
I've  gambled  in  the  Lane; 
I've  gambled  in  the  wildwoods 
And  I  never  lost  a  game. 

c 

THE  GAMBOLING  MAN 

1  I  am  a  roving  traveler  and  go  from  town  to  town, 
Whene'er  I  see  a  table  spread  so  merrily  I  sit  down. 

£  I  had  not  been  traveling  but  a  few  days,  perhaps  three, 

When  I  fell  in  love  with  a  Ix>ndon  girl,  and  she  in  love  with  me. 

8  She  took  me  to  her  dwelling  and  cooled  me  with  a  fan. 

She  whispered  low  in  her  mother's  ear,  I  love  the  gamboling  man. 

4  Oh,  daughter,  dear  daughter,  how  could  you  treat  me  so, 
To  leave  your  poor  old  mother  and  with  the  gamboler  go? 

5  'Tis  true  I  love  you  dearly,  'tis  true  I  love  you  well, 

But  the  love  I  have  for  the  gamboling  man  no  human  tongue  can  tell* 

6  So  I'll  bundle  up  my  clothing,  with  him  will  leave  my  home, 
I'll  travel  the  world  over  wherever  he  may  roam. 

313 


O  BURY  ME  BENEATH  THE  WILLOW 


"How  docs  the  tune  go?"  a  mountaineer  was  asked  about  a  song.  "It's  sad-like",  was  his 
reply.  .  .  .  Who  that  has  looked  at  the  night  stars  from  under  a  weeping  willow  tree,  can  fail 
to  find  here  its  saturated  mournfulness,  almost  murmuring,  "Pity  me,  weep  with  me  over  what  I 
had  that's  gone."  The  branches  droop  with  a  moist  melancholy  as  though  knowing  a  blessedness 
of  tears.  .  .  .  Variants  of  this  are  heard  in  all  states.  ...  It  is  old.  .  .  .  The  tune 
is  from  Jake  Zeitlin,  the  text  rounded  out  by  verses  from  R.  W.  Gordon. 


Andante  moderate 


Arr.  L.  R.  G. 


r 


0         bur 


y       me      be  -  neath    the       wil  -  low, , 


Be- 


r" 


T- 


neath      the  weep -ing  wil -low    tree; And  when      he  comes  he'll  find  me 


314 


O  BUKY  ME  BENEATH  THE  WILLOW 


J 


sleep-ing 


And  per  -  haps         he'll  weep         fop     me. 


1  O  bury  me  beneath  the  willow, 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree, 

And  when  he  comes  he'll  find  me  sleeping 
And  perhaps  he'll  weep  for  me. 

2  Tomorrow  was  our  wedding  day, 
But  God  only  knows  where  he  is. 
He's  gone,  he's  gone  to  seek  another 
He  no  longer  cares  for  me. 

3  My  heart's  in  sorrow,  I'm  in  trouble, 
Grieving  for  the  one  I  love 

For  oh,  I  know  I'll  never  see  him 
Till  we  meet  in  Heaven  above. 


4  They  told  me  that  he  did  not  love  me, 
But  how  could  I  believe  them  true 
Until  an  angel  whispered  softly, 

"  He  will  prove  untrue  to  you." 

5  Place  on  my  grave  a  snow-white  lily 
For  to  prove  my  love  was  true; 

To  show  the  world  I  died  to  save  him 
But  his  love  I  could  not  win. 

6  So  bury  me  beneath  the  willow, 
Beneath  the  weeping  willow  tree, 

And  when  he  comes  he'll  find  me  sleeping 
And  perhaps  he'll  think  of  me. 


815 


MAG'S  SONG 


The  cold  winter  night,  the  falling  snow,  the  poor  girl  outside  looking  in,  the  rich  man,  hard- 
hearted and  comfortable,  letting  the  girl  outside  freeze  to  death :  these  classic  devices  of  melodrama 
are  in  Mag's  Song.  Kentuckians  and  Tennesseans,  who  formed  a  considerable  part  of  the  early 
settlers  of  Iowa,  probably  brought  this  song  to  that  state,  where  it  was  heard  by  Edwin  Ford  Piper. 
It  seems  to  be  part  of  a  ballad  of  thirty  or  forty  stanzas  of  human  woe  from  the  Appalachians.  Of 
course,  farther  back,  it  traces  to  a  broadside  or  a  popular  ballad  in  England  or  Scotland.  By 
cutting  out  all  but  two  verses  of  this  piece,  we  have  the  substance  of  a  small  melodrama  that  delivers 
swiftly.  It  erects  an  immense  stage,  puts  the  two  chief  puppets  through  their  actions,  and  keeps 
"in  character"  to  the  finale.  Alfred  Wathall  has  created  a  tumultuous  musical  setting  for  it. 
The  text  B  w  a  variant  called  The  Orphan  Girl  or  No  Bread  for  the  Poor. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


^ggqiii:  ji    J 


«F§E| 


The     rich       man      lay       on       his      vel    -    vet     couch, 

mf)  mf 


He 


^E 


ate        from      plates       of        gold; 


318 


MAG'S  SONG 


-^ — *- 


poor      girl      stood    on       the      mar    -    blc  step, 


And 


ritard  ^.  molto 


• 


cried,     "So  cold,         so     cold!" 


Three  years  went  by  and  the  rich  man  died; 


-I     "I    H       -4- 


817 


MAG'S  SONG 

;  fdramatico  molto  ^^^  >. 


•ff 


He  de  -  scend-ed      to     fier 


mf)     a  tempo 


e  d  J   f 


rit    molto    arcel. 


The  poor     girl     lay    in     an       an  -  gel's   arms .  . 

8va 


And  sighed,  "All's  well—airs  well!" 


Fed 


318 


MAG'S  SONG 

1  The  rich  man  lay  on  his  velvet  couch, 

He  ate  from  plates  of  gold; 
A  poor  girl  stood  on  the  marble  step, 
And  cried,  "So  cold,  so  cold!'1 

2  Three  years  went  by  and  the  rich  man  died; 

He  descended  to  fiery  hell; 
The  poor  girl  lay  in  an  angel's  arms 
And  sighed,  "All's  well—all's  well!" 

B 
THE  ORPHAN  GIRL  or  NO  BREAD  FOR  THE  POOR 

1  "No  home,  no  home,"  cried  an  orphan  girl 

At  the  door  of  a  princely  hall, 
As  she  trembling  stood  on  tho  j>olished  steps 
And  leaned  on  the  marble  wall. 

2  Her  clothes  were  torn  and  her  head  was  bare 

And  she  tried  to  cover  her  foot 

With  her  dress  that  was  tattered  and  covered  with  snow, 
Yes,  covered  with  snow  and  sleet. 

3  Her  dress  was  thin  and  her  feet  were  bare 

And  the  snow  had  covered  her  head. 
"Oh,  give  me  a  home,"  she  feebly  cried, 
"A  home  and  a  piece  of  bread." 

4  "My  father,  alas,  I  never  knew." 

Tears  dimmed  the  eyes  so  bright. 
"My  mother  sleeps  in  a  new-made  grave, 
'Tis  an  orphan  that  begs  to-night." 

6  "I  must  freeze,"  she  cried  as  she  sank  on  the  steps 

And  strove  to  cover  her  feet 
With  her  ragged  garments  covered  with  snow, 
Yes,  covered  with  snow  and  si  eel . 

6  The  rich  man  lay  on  his  velvet  couch 

And  dreamed  of  his  silver  and  gold 
While  the  orphan  girl  in  her  bed  of  snow 
Was  murmuring,  "So  cold,  so  cold." 

7  The  night  was  dark  and  the  snow  fell  fast 

As  the  rich  man  closed  his  door, 
And  his  proud  lips  curled  with  scorn  as  he  said, 
"No  bread,  no  room,  for  the  poor." 

8  The  morning  dawned  but  the  orphan  girl 

Still  lay  at  the  rich  man's  door 
And  her  soul  had  fled  to  that  home  above 
Where  there's  bread  and  room  for  the  poor. 

819 


I  GOT  A  GAL  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOLLER 

This  arrangement  of  Sourwood  Mountain  is  based  chiefly  on  one  from  Mary  Leaphart.  Com- 
pany square  dances,  hoedowns,  shindigs,  or  individual  clogs  and  shuffles,  work  out  to  this  tune. 
A  yodel  in  steady  staccato,  a  piece  of  mountain  born  pleasantry  and  jubilation,  it  is  out  of  the 
human  cloth  from  which  Tom  Jefferson  wrote,  "All  men  are  free  and  equal",  and  should  not  be 
interfered  with  "in  the  pursuit  of  happiness."  Those  who  make  a  song  like  this  don't  care  a  hoot 
whether  it  is  called  good  music.  Their  answer  to  any  criticism  might  be,  "Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle- 
ah-de-day."  .  .  .  This  Kentucky  version  may  trace  to  North  Carolina  mountains  where 
R.  W.  Gordon  heard  a  verse  as  follows: 


I  have  a  lover  in  Sourwood, 

She's  gone  cripply  and  blind, 

She  broke  the  heart  of  many  a  poor  feller 

But  she  ain't  broke  thi.s'n  of  mine. 


Arr.  H.  F. 


J  .'Ol  J  (i  p^l  j  ;.  j  J".  | 


I      got    a    gal    at  the  head  of  the   hol-ler,       Ho- dee -ink-turn  -  did-dle-ah-dee-day; 


~         '.._..._— T~" 


I 


^ 


3=^ 


i.  -------- 

tt-       . 


g?—j   j1 


She  won't  come  and     I     won't     fol  -  ler; 


i 


320 


I  GOT  A  GAL  AT  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOLLER 

FINE 


zm 


PS 


-t 


= 


Ho  -  dee  -  ink  -  turn  -  did -die -ah -dee -day. 


1  I  got  a  gal  at  the  head  of  the  holler, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
She  won't  come  and  I  won't  f oiler; 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 


8  Some  of  these  days,  before  very  long, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
I'll  get  a  gal  and  a-home  I'll  run, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 


2  She  sits  up  with  old  Si  Hall, 

Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
Me  and  Jeff  can't  go  there  at  all. 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 


4  Big  dog  bark  an*  the  little  one'll  bite  you, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah -dee-day ; 
Big  gal  court  an'  the  little  one'll  marry  you, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 


5  Geese  in  the  pond  and  ducks  in  the  ocean, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day ; 
Devil's  in  the  women  when  they  take  a  notion, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 


821 


LONESOME  ROAD 

The  lyric  of  a  desperate  heart  swings  into  a  cry  of  self-pity  and  a  hymn  of  personal  hate. 
Waldron  P.  Webb  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society  sang  an  early  negro  version  of  this  for  me  one 
evening  in  a  dormitory  of  the  University  of  Chicago.  The  verse  ran — 

Look  down,  look  down,  dat  lonesome  road, 

Hang  down  yo*  haid  and  sigh, 

You  cause  me  to  weep,  you  cause  me  to  moan, 

You  cause  me  to  leave  mah  home. 

You  cause  me  to  leave  mah  home. 

Webb  sang  it  in  imitation  of  an  old  nogro  woman  he  had  heard  as  a  boy.  The  glides  and  twists, 
the  snarls  and  moans,  cannot  be  compassed  in  musical  notation;  the  devices  for  measuring 
sound  and  indicating  pitch  are  not  yet  available  for  writing  scores  for  the  more  subtle  negro  vocal 
performances.  The  white  man,  or  the  mulatto,  takes  such  pieces  and  shades  them  to  his  own 
ways  and  likings.  We  have  Lonesome  Road  here  as  it  came  to  Pendleton,  Indiana,  to  people  who 
passed  it  on  to  Lloyd  Lewis.  .  .  .  "Your"  is  "yo\"  "God"  is  "Gawd."  The  "r"  is  silent  in 
"'fore"  and  "heard."  "Head**  is  "haid."  ...  It  goes  lugubriously,  interthreaded  with  a 
snarl.  As  a  theme  it  is  slow,  grave,  "moanish." 

Arr.  R.  C. 


-frfcl  T*- 

4-i  .  —  I 

1  —  i  —  i 

1  —  1^  1  —  i  —  i  1 

2t*9~T" 

1*    ^>- 

—  j— 

jT^i 

A 

i  1  — 

h- 

f^i 

(^j 

"*J  — 

1 

(8)  4    1 

1LJE1  =_> 

4- 

-=f 

tl  -  "^ 

T       rrrr-rW 

,  ^ 

S— 

1 

-*—• 

—  t— 

»>-Cr 

.cJ                   1   - 

qj       ^ 
Look 

j  LH  1  .  1  H  1  UH  j  1 

:  down,  look  down  that  lorie-sorne  road,  Hang  down  your  head  an 

IT— 

i  1- 

L-^JJ 

1 

—  

.,  ., 

PIANO  jD 

^•j 
cJ 

—  J- 

L-l 

f 

« 

^-  . 

flp  *        | 

f: 

jg$J-Sr 

r 

T^  —  S- 

12^  — 

? 

•   

\=r-.  

-^ 

\=\ 

_^.4.  . 

*  =3 

best     of  friends  must  part  some  day,    An'     why         not     you         an*      1, An* 


a=s 


rr 


i^ 


E 


^ 


LONESOME  ROAD 


m 


^ 


why          not  you          an*    I. 


I         tongue. 


± 


1 


f= 

l>ig- 


dfcri 


1  Look  down,  look  down  that  lonesome  road, 
Hang  down  your  head  an'  sigh; 
The  best  of  friends  must  part  some  day, 
An'  why  not  you  an*  I, 
An*  why  not  you  an*  I? 


I  wish  to  God  that  I  had  died, 
Had  died  'fore  I  was  born, 
Before  I  seen  your  smilin'  face 
An'  heard  your  lyin'  tongue, 
An*  heard  your  lyin'  tongue. 


FOND  AFFECTION 


Sometimes  it  happens  that  lovely  people  write  verses,  lyrics,  witli  inadequate  melodies.  The 
Kentucky  mountain  song,  "Fond  Affection,"  has  a  tune  hardly  worth  record  here  but  it  does 
have  these  striking  stanzas. 


1  The  world's  so  wide  I  cannot  cross  it, 
The  sea's  so  deep  I  cannot  wade, 
I'll  just  go  hire  me  a  little  boatman, 
To  row  me  across  the  stormy  tide. 


I  give  you  back  your  ring  and  letters, 
And  the  picture  I  have  loved  so  well, 
Arid  henceforth  we  will  meet  as  strangers, 
But  I  can  never  say  farewell. 


3  There's  only  three  things  that  I  could  wish  for, 
That  is  my  coffin,  shroud,  and  grave, 
And  when  I'm  dead  please  don't  weep  o'er  me, 
Or  kiss  the  lips  you  once  betrayed. 


8*3 


GO  BRING  ME  BACK  MY  BLUE-EYED  BOY 

Here  too  is  a  "  sad-like  "  tune.  .  .  .  And  the  words  match  the  tune.  .  .  .  The  seventh 
verse  is  an  addition  by  someone  wanting  a  dash  of  horse  sense  to  finish  off  the  fatal  childish  romance. 
.  .  .  Text  A  and  the  tune  are  from  Frances  Ries,  and  text  B,  London  City,  from  R.  W.  Gordon. 


3 


£ 


3=2 


jM- 


Go     bring      me    back    my    blue-eyed    boy;        Go      bring     my    dar  -  ling    back  to 


me,       Go   bring  me  back  the   one   I      love,     And   hap  -  py    will     I      ev  -  er    be. 


1 


(io  bring  me  back  my  blue-eyed  boy, 
Go  bring  my  darling  back  to  me, 
Go  bring  me  back  the  one  I  love, 
And  happy  will  I  ever  be. 

2  Must  I  go  bound  while  he  goes  free? 
Must  I  love  a  man  that  don't  love  me? 
Or  must  I  act  some  childish  part, 
And  die  for  the  one  that  broke  rny  heart? 

13  Late  one  night  when  her  father  came  home, 
Inquiring  where  his  daughter  had  gone, 
He  went  upstairs  and  the  lock  he  broke, 
And  found  her  hanging  by  a  rope. 


4  He  drew  his  knife  and  he  cut  her  down, 
He  drew  his  knife  and  he  cut  her  down, 
He  drew  his  knife  and  he  cut  her  down, 
Upon  her  breast  these  words  he  found. 

5  Go  dig  my  grave,  go  dig  it  deep, 
Go  dig  my  grave,  go  dig  it  deep, 
Go  dig  my  grave,  go  dig  it  deep, 

And  plant  a  rose  at  iny  head  and  feet. 

6  Upon  my  breast  a  turtle  dove, 
Upon  my  breast  a  turtle  dove, 
Upon  my  breast  a  turtle  dove, 
To  show  this  world  I  died  for  love. 


7  Around  my  grave  go  build  a  fence, 
Around  my  grave  go  build  a  fence, 
Around  my  grave  go  build  a  fence, 
To  show  this  world  I  had  no  sense. 

B 
LONDON  CITY 


1  London  City  where  I  used  to  dwell, 
It's  a  railroad  boy  I  loved  so  well, 
He  courted  mo  my  heart  away, 
And  with  me  he  would  not  stay. 

8  Go  out  this  fair  little  town; 

Take  him  a  chair  and  sit  right  down, 
Take  other  strange  girls  upon  his  knee, 
And  tell  them  things  he  won't  tell  me. 

8  I  don't  sec  the  reason  why 

Unless  they  had  more  golden  eyes. 

Gold  will  melt,  silver  will  fly, 

I  hope  some  day  they  will  become  as  I. 


4  She  went  off  upstairs  to  fix  her  bed 
Not  a  word  to  her  mamma  she  said. 
Mamma  went  off  upstairs  saying 
Daughter  dear,  what  is  troubling  you? 

5  Oh,  Mamma,  Oh,  Mamma,  I  dare  to  tell 
It's  the  railroad  boy  I  love  so  well, 

He  courted  me  my  heart  away 
And  with  me  would  not  stay. 
0  Her  papa  came  in  from  his  work 
Saying  where  is  my  daughter  so  dear, 
Off  upstairs  he  did  go 
And  there  found  her  hanging  by  a  rope. 

7  Upon  her  breast  was  a  letter  found 

Saying,  when  you  find  me  cut  me  down — 

Go  dig  my  grave  both  wide  and  deep 

And  place  a  marble  stone  at  my  head  and  feet. 

Upon  my  breast  place  a  turtle  dove, 

To  show  this  world  I  died  for  love. 

324 


THE  MIDNIGHT  TRAIN 


Railroad  trains  hurtling  with  smoke,  fire,  and  thunder  across  peaceful  landscapes  at  night, 
rushing  remorseless  as  fate  along  the  iron  rail  pathways,  holding  to  a  fixed  timetable  and  repeating 
the  performance  every  midnight  or  early  morning  "fo*  day*' — out  of  this  the  negro  worker  has 
made  a  song  that  pounds  home  with  the  beats  and  accents  of  a  Limited  Express.  The  grind  of 
flanges,  steel  burnishing  steel  hi  a  tireless  syncopation,  is  here,  in  melody  and  overtone.  .  .  . 
All  night  long  the  trains  weave;  every  night  they  repeat  the  weave;  civilization  hangs  on  the  time 
table.  The  "same  train"  runs,  and  always  "all  night  long."  ...  A  smokestack  with  a 
maroon  plume  of  sparks,  a  firebox  square  of  crimson,  the  onruslung  monotone  of  a  strong,  long- 
drawn  locomotive  whistle — thus  the  tempo.  ...  In  Montevallo  at  the  State  Teachers  College 
of  Alabama  they  sing  it;  and  there  are  variants  at  the  University  of  Georgia,  and  at  the  State 
Teachers  College  at  Hattiesburg,  Mississippi.  .  .  .  Additional  verses  may  have  the  "same 
train"  carrying  "sister,"  "brother,"  and  so  on. 


mf  Allegro  moderate 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


J-    -J'jgJ? 


ffifc 


The  mid-night  train  and  the  fo'  day  train  Run  all  night  . 


long.    The  mid-night  train  and  the 


^p 


fo' day  train  Run  all night  long,  They  run  ....    un-til  the  break    of  day. 


•^ 

1  The  midnight  train  and  the  fo'  day  train       %  Twas  the  same  train  carried  yo'  mother  'way 
Run  all  night  long.  _        Run  all  night  long. 

\  the  same  train  carried  yo'  mother  'way 

Run  all  night  long, 
un  until  the  break  of  day. 


idnight  train  and  the  fo'  day  train 

Run  all  night  long. 

idnight  train  and  the  fo'  day  train         'Twas  the  same  t 


The  midnight  train 


e  mngt  tran  an    te  o     ay 

Run  all  night  long, 
They  run  until  the  break  of  day. 


825 


I  DON'T  LIKE  NO  RAILROAD  MAN 


This  arrangement  is  based  on  the  song  given  by  Mary  Leaphart,  whose  husband  is  the  head  of 
the  department  of  law  at  the  University  of  Montana.  Mrs.  Leaphart  is  Kentucky  born  and  spent 
years  among  the  mountain  people  who  sing  this;  her  performance  of  it  is  an  impersonation;  she 
identifies  herself  with  a  character.  It  is  to  be  sung  staccato,  nasal,  abrupt,  with  contempt,  yet  with 
nice  control  as  though  railroads  come  and  railroads  go  but  the  mountains  and  us,  the  mountaineers, 
live  on.  We  can  almost  see  the  mountaineers  sitting  in  their  cabin  doorways  watching  the  railroad 
gangs  come  up  the  valley;  they  scorn  the  boasted  oncoming  civilization. 

AIT.  H.  P. 

-3 H -\ 


^— ^— ± 


don't      like        no          rail     -     road      man, 


Rail  -  road      man       he'll 


{ 

HSt3j=     t=r^ 

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kill     you      if       he       can,                 I 

don't    like       no        rail  -    road      man. 

1                       ' 

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(  SLd_  _4tri.  —  ,  —  »= 

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1  I  don't  like  no  railroad  man, 
Railroad  man  he'll  kill  you  if  he  can, 
I  don't  like  no  railroad  man. 

2  I  don't  like  no  railroad  boss, 
Railroad  boss  got  a  head  like  a  boss, 
I  don't  like  no  railroad  boss. 

3  I  don't  like  no  railroad  fool, 
Railroad  fool  got  a  head  like  a  mule, 
I  don't  like  no  railroad  fool. 


PICNIC  AND  HAYRACK  FOLLIES,  CLOSE  HARMONY,  AND 

DARN  FOOL  DITTIES 


SUCKING    CIDER   THROUGH   A   STRAW      .... 
DID  YOU   EVER,    EVER,    EVER?          

HARMONIZATION  BY 

Henry  Francis  Parks     . 

PAGF3 
.        329 

329 

I    WAS   BORN   ALMOST   TEN   THOUSAND   YEARS   AGO      . 
GO   GET   THE   AX         
ABA  LONE    .......... 

Marion  Lychenheim 
Hazel  Fehnan 
Henry  Francis  Parks 

380 
.     33* 
333 

IN  DE  VINTER   TIME          
CIGARETTES   WILL   SPOIL   YER   LIFE         .... 
MARY   HAD    A    WILLIAM    GOAT 

.       Alfred  0.  Watttall  .       . 
Henry  Joxlyn 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     334 
.     335 
330 

I   WISH   I   WAS  A   LITTLE   BIRD        
OLD  ADAM            
THE   HORSE   NAMED   BILL           
CRAZY   SONG    TO    THE   AIR   OF   **D1XIK" 

Hazel  Felman 
Marion  Lychenheim 
.       Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     338 
.     331) 
.     340 
.     342 

A   BOY   HE   HAD   AN   AUGER      
ABDUL,  THE  BULBUL  AMEER  
GREENS        .                      .                                 ..... 

.       Alfred  0.  Wathall  .        . 
.       Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     343 
.     344 
.     347 

ANIMAL  FAIR      
CALLIOPE    .......... 

Marwn  Lychenheim 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     348 
.     340 

SI    HUBBARD        

.       Alfred  G.  Wathall  .        . 

.     350 

9*7 


Si8 


SUCKING  CIDER  THROUGH  A  STRAW 


H.  Luke  Stancil  heard  this  from  old  men,  his  neighbors,  in  the  mountains  of  Pickens  County  t 
Georgia.  And  Jess  Ricks  of  Long  Island  heard  it  in  Taylorville,  Illinois,  as  a  boy.  11.  W.  Gordon 
surmises  it  may  be  early  minstrel.  .  .  .  The  syllable  "ci"  in  "cider"  is  drawn  out  as  if  to 
indicate  a  prolonged  sip. 


Drawlinyly 


Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


Was  sucking  ci     -    der  Thro*  a  straw 


1  The  prettiest  girl 
That  ever  I  saw, 
Was  sucking  cider 
Through  a  straw. 


I  told  that  gal 
I  didn't  sec  how 
She  sucked  the  cider 
Through  a  straw. 


4  And  all  at  once 
That  straw  did  slip; 
I  sucked  some  rider 
From  her  lip. 


8  And  cheek  by  cheek 
And  jaw  by  jaw, 
We  sucked  that  cider 
Through  that  straw. 


5  And  now  I've  got 
Me  a  mother-in-law 
From  sucking  cider 
Through  a  straw. 


DID  YOU  EVER,  EVER,  EVER? 

A  children's  game  rhyme,  for  counting  out  and  finding  who's  going  to  be  "It,"  is  said  to  be 
as  old  as  "eeny  meeny  miny  mo"  or  "monkey,  monkey,  bottle  of  beer,  how  many  monkeys  are 
there  here?" 

Did  you  ever,  ever,  ever, 
In  your  leaf,  life,  loaf, 
See  the  deevel,  divil,  dovol, 
Kiss  his  weef,  wife,  woaf ? 
No,  I  never,  never,  never, 
In  my  leaf,  life,  loaf, 
Saw  the  deevel,  divil,  dovol, 
Kiss  his  weef,  wife,  woaf. 

8S9 


I  WAS  BORN  ALMOST  TEN  THOUSAND  YEARS  AGO 

Folk  lore  tells  of  giants  and  long-lived  men.  On  far  travels  they  saw  and  heard  much.  .  .  . 
Also  hoary  legends  have  dealt  with  the  Champion  Liar.  .  .  .  We  have  in  this  instance  a  vest 
pocket  encyclopedia,  an  outline  of  history  with  numerous  references  to  picturesque  personages. 
.  .  .  It  packs  a  wicked  lot  of  biography. 


nU 

Arr.  M. 

L. 

-£-ftr-j  *  *  |K  *  M  *  h  

1^~ 

1  

~i  ^~ 

-P>  —  j 

-.^.  — 

"  ^y 

^M=\ 

*j            •*          ** 
I        was    horn     al  -  most     ten    thou*  -  and    years 

-oit                               i          i 

a    -    go; 

And 

p. 

there's 

—-  1 

xt  --(  »_  -  ^"M""^  —  pg-'  ^  —  :  —  J  ^g  J  J— 

=3  1  J-  -i  —  »M 

r             r      f 

1                                                         1 

-el" 

X 

. 

.  -ir-  .  ...                      ......  ,  ^j                             -    -                  crj 

f^J                                              "£                             .J 

L:r  ^  j^^=^=^_fL  -^pJ^ 


^     ^     ^»— ^ 


nolh-ing  in  the  world  that  I  don't  know;  I      saw    Pe-ter,  Paul  and  Mo-ses,  Play-ing 


J: 


m 


^ 


^ 


ring  -  a  -  round  the  ros  -  es,     And  I'm   here   to    lick   the   guy  what  says  'taint  so. 


pip 


Flj:r  Ul 


sse 


I  WAS  BORN  ALMOST  TKX  THOIS  \NI>  YKARS   AGO 


1  I  was  bom  almost  ten  thousand  years  ago, 
And  there's  nothing  in  the  world  that  I  don't 

know; 

I  saw  Peter,  Paid  and  Moses, 
Playing  ring-around-the-roses 
And  I'm  here  to  lick  the  guy  what  says  'taint  so. 

£  I  saw  Satan  when  he  looked  the  garden  o'er, 
Saw  Adam  and  Eve  driven  from  the  door, 
And  behind  the  bushes  peeping, 
Saw  the  apple  they  were  eating, 
And  I'll  swear  that  I'm  the  guy  what  ate  the  core. 

3  I  saw  Jonah  when  he  embarked  within  the  whale, 
And  thought  he'd  never  live  to  tell  the  tale. 
But  old  Jonah  had  eaten  garlic 
And  he  gave  the  whale  a  colic, 
So  he  coughed  up  and  let  him  out  o'  jail. 


4  I  saw  Samson  when  he  laid  the  village  eold, 
Saw  Daniel  tame  the  lions  in  the  hold. 
And  helped  build  the  Tower  of  Babel, 

Up  as  high  as  they  were  able, 

And  there's  lots  of  other  things  1  haven't  told. 

5  I  taught  Solomon  his  little  A-B-C's, 

I  helped  Brigham  Young  to  make  Limburger 
cheese, 

And  while  sailing  down  the  bay 

With  Methusaleh  one  day, 

I  saved  his  flowing  whiskers  from  the  bree/e 

6  Queen  Elizabeth  she  fell  in  love  with  me 
We  were  married  in  Milwaukee  secretly, 
But  I  schemed  around  and  shook  her, 
And  I  went  with  General  Hooker 

To  shoot  mosquitoes  down  in  Tennessee. 


7  I  remember  when  the  country  had  a  king, 
I  saw  Cleopatra  pawn  her  wedding  ring, 
And  I  saw  the  flags  a-flying 
When  George  Washington  stopixnl  lying, 
On  the  night  when  Patti  first  began  to  sing. 


831 


GO  GET  THE  AX 

A  bob-haired  blond  girl  with  a  dirty  face  stood  on  a  downtown  street  corner  in  Chicago  singing 
this  song;  she  wore  green  goggles  and  held  out  a  tin  cup  to  passers-by;  she  was  being  initiated. 
.  .  .  We  have  heard  the  piece  sung  and  giggled.  ...  As  to  gigglers  we  quote  Cherubini, 
"The  only  thing  worse  than  one  flute  is  two  flutes." 

Arr.  H.  F. 


taw1  —  I  —  ' 

1  —  i  T^j 

=*= 

r11'  —  J 

—  J  —  v~ 

—  l  

I  i     j.  ji 

J    •  * 

Peep-in'  through  the  knot-hole       Of  grand-pa's  wood-en    leg, 

\\Tio'll      wind  the 

yKvi—  jf         j 

M  J  —  1  —  h- 

—  c4~ 

^  

^*i 

, 

^1      1  

^^^  ^      '  •  •  ••  --^|  •  •-  '  •  •  •  

—  ^~ 

4__  

"  '  j^    ^  ^ 

—  ^  —  ^n  

*    F- 

-*,  ^ 

jL  .                 ^      i^r«-  - 
•pr. 

^          i        ^ 

-*     •«•• 

^!f*  —  *  —  p 

—  M  — 

-J  —  F 

—  HP 

TM  h-t- 

II3—  F 

I—  ^  — 

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clock  when   I     am    gone? 


Go         get      the      ax,  There's 


^^c==ftq 

_zr-*-.-±-— -j       t  ^! 


i 


?/  I  o'  —  ^  m      —    .^_  ^. 

flea   in   Lizzie's  ear,      For  a   boy's best  friend   is    his  moth-er. 


F^a 


jrtJ^tT 

-» 


m 


^^ 


1  Peepin'  through  the  knot-hole 

Of  grandpa*s  wooden  leg. 
Who'll  wind  the  clock  when  I  am  gone? 

Go  get  the  ax 
There's  a  flea  in  Lizzie's  car, 

For  a  boy's  best  friend  is  his  mother. 

2  Peepin'  through  the  knot-hole 

Of  grandpa's  wooden  leg, 
Why  do  they  build  the  shore  so  near  the  ocean? 

Who  cut  the  sleeves 
Out  of  dear  old  daddy's  vest, 

And  dug  up  Fido's  bones  to  build  the  sewer? 


3  A  horsey  stood  around, 

With  his  feet  upon  the  ground, 
Oh,  who  will  wind  the  clock  when  I  am  gone? 

Go  get  the  ax, 
There's  a  fly  on  Lizzie's  ear, 

But  a  boy's  best  friend  is  his  mother. 

4  I  fell  from  a  window, 

A  second-story  window, 
I  caught  my  eyebrow  on  the  window-sill. 

The  cellar  is  behind  the  door, 
Mary's  room  is  behind  the  ax, 

But  a  boy's  best  friend  is  his  mother. 


332 


ABALONE 


Monterey  is  a  California  town  of  Spanish  streets  lined  with  houses  of  a  time  when  Proud  Spain 
ruled  the  West  Coast.  Tourist  cars  run  to  the  House  Where  Rol>ert  Louis  Stevenson  Lived.  In 
the  harbor  one  may  see  Italian  fishermen  mending  nets,  putting  out  to  sea,  coming  home  with  toll 
taken  from  deep  waters.  And  roundabout  the  pyramids  of  aba  lone  shells  are  stacked  high.  It  is 
a  world  capital  of  abalone.  At  the  lunch  counters  nbalone  is  a  favorite  dish,  a  nutritious  mollusk. 
His  shell  makes  shirt  buttons  by  the  carload.  .  .  .  From  Monterey  we  go  to  Carmel-By-The- 
Sea,  past  cypress  trees,  tough  twisted  torsoes  lashed  by  long  winds,  shajx^s  of  storm  transfixed  with 
a  momentary  peace,  a  picture  for  pilgrims.  „  .  .  Then  at  Carmcl  we  may  hear  Al>alone  Song, 
its  stanzas  chiefly  a  bequest  of  George  Sterling  of  San  Francisco.  .  .  .  Beach  fire  singers  have 
flung  it  with  laughter  at  goblins  of  the  half  moon,  the  rising  full  moon,  and  the  waning  silver  crescent. 

Arr.  II.  F.  P. 


£ 


£ 


In  Car  -  mel      Bay        the  peo  -  pie       say        we  feed  the  laz  -  za  -  ro  -  ni .  .  .  . 


On 


:f 


car  -  a    -    mels        and  cock  -  le    -    shells      and  hunks  of    Ab  -    a  -   lo   -    nc. 

I  I  "IV.    I  S       I  N 


fe^==^r^fe^^^r^^J^^^^Efejrr=a 
gJS^^=^^^l^d=^==^F=:|±^=fl 


1  In  Carmel  Bay  the  people  say, 
We  feed  the  Lazzaroni 

On  caramels,  and  cockle-shells 
And  hunks  of  abalone. 

2  O,  some  folks  boast  of  quail  on  toast, 
Because  they  think  it's  tony; 

But  my  tom-cat  gets  nice  and  fat 
On  hunks  of  abalone. 

8  He  hides  in  caves,  beneath  the  waves, 
His  ancient  patrimony: 
Race  suicide  will  ne'er  betide 
The  fertile  abalone. 


4  I  telegraph  my  better  half 
By  Morse  or  by  Marconi 

But  when  in  need  of  greater  speed 
I  send  an  abalone. 

5  Some  folks  say  that  pain  is  real 
And  some  say  that  it's  phoney; 
But  as  for  me,  when  I  can't  agree, 
I  cat  an  abalone. 

6  Our  naval  hero,  best  of  all, 
His  name  was  Pauley  Joney; 

He  sailed  the  seas  as  he  darn  pleased, 
But  he  never  ate  abalone. 


333 


IN  DE  VINTER  TIME 


This  is  sung  by  superincumbent  cucumbers  in  Iowa  and  elsewhere.  We  have  it  from  students 
and  faculty  members  of  Cornell  College.  The  tempo  is  mazurka  and  came  with  Polish  and  Czeko- 
Slovak  emigration  to  the  Corn  Belt. 


Lively.     Tempo  di  mazurka 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


teg 


fe£|z.£-JL^ 


3 


SE 


3: 


In       dc      vin  -   ter,       in        de      vin  -  tor -time,    Vcn    de      vin'    blows      on       de 


^         .  j_ ..        ~- & 3 ^  ^ J 


vin  -  dow  -  pane,    An'      dc     vim  -    men,      in         de    vaud  -  *vil,       Ride     de      ve  - 


ritard.  = 


I 


•"— T~^ 

loc'  -  pede       in       de      ves  -    ti  -  bulc,      Ah,     vim  -  mens!     Ah,      mens! 


ritard. 


3E^ 


a  fcmpo 


1 


?=F 


In  de  vinter,  in  de  vinter-time, 
Ven  de  vin'  blows  on  dc  vindpw-pane. 
An'  de  vimnien,  in  de  vaud'vil 
Ride  de  velocipede  in  de  vestibule, 
All,  vimmens!     Ah,  mens! 


CIGARETTES  WILL  SPOIL  YER  LIFE 


Two  newspapermen,  working  for  the  Boston  Post,  took  a  poor  poet  around  the  town  in  a  motor 
car,  showing  him  Faneuil  Hall,  Bunker  Hill,  Charlestown  Jail,  Harvard  University.  They  made 
inquiries,  the  poet  gave  guarded  replies,  but  was  twice  caught  napping.  They  wrote  notes  for  an 
interview.  Then  they  fed  the  poet  and  sang  this  modern  Boston  ditty. 


Fairly  fast,  in  tone  of  warning 


=£ 


3 


fat:  H.  J. 


3 


Cig    -      a  -    rettes       will       spoil      yer          life, 


Ruin         yer    health       and 


i 


^^f- 


r- 


slowly 


CD       * 

m 

2*         ^ 

"--]  r   :-"" 

E1 

;    p        p       4  r    "i    ,:„  

:-;,-]•  -*:rii 

9 

y          m         € 

l         '         '    i      j 

—  11 

t) 

m           m           9          ~<S-^ 

-J- 

ki 

11    ye 

r 

ba  -  by. 

Poor      lit  -   tl 

o 

in  -    no  -  cent      child.  .  .  . 

f= 

h^  ,  t«  JH 

4 

eh  p  u  * 

01 

'  — 

__J  J  « 

i«n^                            2 

^—11 

i 


r 


? 


Cigarettes  will  spoil  yer  life, 
Ruin  yer  health  and  kill  yer  baby, 
Poor  little  innocent  child. 


335 


MARY  HAD  A  WILLIAM  GOAT 


We  have  heard  of  a  man  who  bet  he  could  eat  two  dozen  raw  oysters.  Before  putting  up  the 
money  he  excused  himself,  left  the  room,  came  back  and  won  the  bet.  "But  why  did  you  leave 
the  room?"  he  was  asked.  He  replied,  "I  went  out  and  ate  two  dozen  raw  oysters  to  make  sure  I 
could  do  it."  Then  they  all  joined  hands  and  sang  a  tune  that  used  to  have  words  about  Mary 
and  her  little  lamb. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Font 


. 


Ma  -  ry  had  a  Will-iam  goat,  Will-iam  goat,  Will-iam  goat,  Ma-ry  had  a  Will-iam  goat,  his 


jtUdTJC 


stotn-ach  lined  with  zinc.     One  day  he  ate  an   oys-tcrcan,  oys-ter  can,  oys-tcr  can,    One 


day  he  ate  an  oyster  can,  and  a  clothesline  full  of  shirts.  Oh,  the  shirts  can  do  no  harm  inside, 


336 


MARY  HAD  A  WILLIAM  GOAT 


ritard 


J  J1 


m      m- 


harm  in-side,  harm  in-side,  Shirts  can  do  no  harm  in  -  side,     but  the  oys-ter  can. 


Mary  had  a  William  goat,  William  goat,  William  goat, 
Mary  had  a  William  goat,  his  stomach  lined  with  zinc. 
One  day  he  ate  an  oyster  can,  oyster  can,  oyster  can, 
One  day  he  ate  an  oyster  can,  and  a  clothesline  full  of  shirts. 
Oh,  th."  shirts  can  do  no  harm  inside,  harm  inside,  harm  inside, 
Shirts  can  do  no  harm  inside,  but  the  oyster  can. 


337 


I  WISH  I  WAS  A  LITTLE  BIRD 


Suppose  a  bashful  girl  and  a  backward  young  man  are  lonesome  at  a  party  or  picnic.  Can 
they  do  better  than  to  sing  this  just  to  see  how  it  goes  as  a  duet?  .  .  .  The  spoken  line  can  be 
varied  to  "  But  I  don't  see  how  you  expect  me  to  stay  here  deserted,  forlorn,  isolated,  eating  my 
heart  out,  all  by  myself."  ...  A  Hudson  river  steamboat  deck  favorite  on  moonlight  nights. 
.  .  .  Text  and  tune  from  Magda  Brooks  of  New  Paltz,  New  York. 

AIT.  H.  F. 


I     wish  I  was  a    lit  -  tic     bird, 


I'd     fly     up     in       a     tree. 


3? 


^ii 


? 


s= 


(Spoken) 


sit    and    sing    my    sad    lit -tie  song,         But   I  can't  stay   here   by   my  -  self! 


£ 


1  I  wish  I  was  a  little  bird, 
I'd  fly  up  in  a  tree. 
I'd  sit  and  sing  my  sad  little  song, 
But 

I 

can't 

stay 

here 

by 


myself! 
338 


2  I  wish  I  was  a  little  fish, 
I'd  swim  way  down  in  the  sea. 
I'd  sit  and  sing  my  sad  little  song, 
But 

I 

can't 

stay 

here 

by 


myself! 


OLD  ADAM 


Sympathy  for  The  First  Man  is  here.     .     .     .     College  girls  sing  it. 
from  the  State  Teachers  College  at  Harrisonburg.  Virginia. 


.     .     Text  and  tune  are 


Arr.  M.  L. 


i*E 


^ 


I'm    so     sor    -    ry        for        old      Ad  -    am, —     Just  as      sor    -    ry         as       can 


jJ 


m 


==£=&= 


be; —       For  he    ncv-or      liad    no    Mum  -  my        For  to    hold   him    on     her    knee. 


1  I*m  so  sorry  for  old  Adam, 

Just  as  sorry  as  can  be; 
For  he  never  had  no  mammy 
For  to  hold  him  on  her  knee. 


2  For  he  never  had  no  childhood, 
Playin*  round  the  cabin  door, 
And  he  never  had  no  daddy 
For  to  tell  him  all  he  know. 


S  And  I've  always  had  the  feelin* 

He'd  a  let  that  apple  be, 
If  he'd  only  had  a  mammy 
For  to  hold  him  on  her  knee. 

339 


THE  HORSE  NAMED  BILL 


The  tempo  for  this  song  is  indicated  as  "with  lucid  intervals  if  possible."  It  is  a  highbrow  folk 
song  disbursed  in  many  places  where  the  higher  learning  is  sought.  The  text  is  from  Bed  Lewis 
of  Sauk  Center,  Minnesota,  who  got  the  last  verse  from  George  Sterling  of  San  Francisco,  and  one 
or  two  other  verses  from  an  Englishman  in  Italy  returning  from  a  cruise  to  Bombay.  On  the 
same  boat  was  a  rah-rah  boy  from  Walla  Walla,  Washington,  who  asked  the  Englishman,  "What 
IB  a  caterpillar?"  and  answering  his  own  riddle,  said,  "A  caterpillar  is  a  worm  in  a  raccoon  coat 
going  for  a  college  education."  Also  he  told  the  Englishman,  "  Walla  Walla  is  named  twice  for  the 
sake  of  those  who  didn't  hear  the  first  time." 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


J»  J  f  * 


V 

Oh,    I  had  a  horse  and  his  name  was  Bill,  And  when  he  ran  he  couldn't  stand  still,  He  ran  a- 


way 


one 


And      al  -  so       I     ran    with  him. 


1  Oh,  I  had  a  horse  and  his  name  was  Bill. 
And  when  he  ran  he  couldn't  stand  still. 
He  ran  away — one  day — 
And  also  I  ran  with  him. 

%  He  ran  so  fast  he  could  not  stop. 
He  ran  into  a  barber  shop, 
And  fell  exhaustionized — with  his  eyeteeth- 
In  the  barber's  left  shoulder. 

S40 


THE  HORSE  NAMED  BILL 

3  I  had  a  gal  and  her  name  was  Daisy 
And  when  she  sang  the  cat  went  crazy 
With  deliriums— St.  Vituses— 

And  all  kinds  of  cataleptics. 

4  One  day  she  sang  a  song  about 

A  man  who  turned  himself  inside  out 
And  jumped — into  the  river — 
He  was  so  very  sleepy. 

5  I'm  going  out  in  the  woods  next  year 
And  shoot  for  beer — and  not  for  deer — 
I  am  —  I  ain't  — 

I'm  a  great  sharpshootress. 

6  At  shooting  birds  I  am  a  beaut. 
There  is  no  bird  I  cannot  shoot 

In  the  eye,  in  the  ear,  in  the  teeth, 
In  the  fm(g)ers. 

7  Oh,  I  went  up  in  a  balloon  so  big, 

The  people  on  the  earth  they  looked  like  a  pig, 
Like  a  mice — like  a  katydid — like  flieses — 
And  like  fleasens. 

8  The  balloon  turned  up  with  its  bottom  side  higher. 
It  fell  on  the  wife  of  a  country  squire. 

She  made  a  noise  like  a  dog  hound,  like  a  steam  whistle, 
And  also  like  dynamite. 

9  Oh,  what  could  you  do  in  a  case  like  that? 
Oh,  what  could  you  do  but  stamp  on  your  hat, 
And  your  toothbrush — and  everything — 
That's  helpless. 


341 


CRAZY  SONG  TO  THE  AIR  OF  "DIXIE" 

We  present  here  lines  written  by  Andy  Lee,  a  pen  name  of  W.  W.  Delaney,  as  published  in 
the  Delaney  Song  Book  No.  33.  Our  guess  may  be  that  his  "Crazy  Song  to  the  Air  of  'Dixie'" 
was  the  beginning  of  the  highbrow  folk  song  |>erpetrated  and  perpetuated  by  Sinclair  Lewis,  George 
Sterling  and  others.  The  text  of  it  in  full  is  here,  so  that  each  individual  singer  can  figure  it  out  for 
himself.  Some  of  the  logic  is  on  the  order  of  that  of  the  member  of  Congress  who  expostulated, 
"Mr.  Sfieaker,  I  smell  a  rat.  I  see  him  floating  in  the  air.  But  I  will  nip  him  in  the  bud."  Nor 
is  it  in  tone  above  or  below  that  of  the  orator  addressing  the  House  of  Commons  regarding  certain 
thieves  in  high  places,  saying,  "Sir,  put  these  men  on  an  uninhabited  island  and  they  would  not 
be  there  an  hour  before  they  would  have  their  hands  in  the  pockets  of  the  naked  savages."  .  .  . 
With  but  slight  practice  any  of  the  verses  will  go  to  the  tune  of  Dixie.  And  they  are  nearly  as  silly 
if  read  instead  of  sung. 

1  Way  down  South  in  the  land  of  cotton, 

I  wrote  this  song  and  wrote  it  rotten; 

I  did,  I  didn't — you  don't  believe  me, 

The  reason  why  I  cannot  sing, 

I  have  no  chestnuts  for  to  spring, 

O,  rue!   Did  we?     She  don't.     Why  does  she? 

I  just  corne  back  from  Mobile,  I  did,  I  didn't! 

I  just  come  back  from  Mobile, 

And  I  don't  care  to  go  anywhere — 

I  do,  I  don't.     Oli,  Lizzie  sells  the  peanuts. 

£  I  used  to  live  down  on  a  farm, 

And  one  bright  night,  when  the  day  was  warm, 

I  swiped  some;  choose  from  oil'  the  table, 

Tlic  farmer  chased  me,  but  the  night  was  damp, 

And  the  farmer  got  such  an  awful  cramp 

In  his  necktie,  in  his  feet,  in  his  eye,  oh,  Ileinie! 
.    I  just  eome  bark  from  Cuba!  Hurrah!  llurree! 

I  just  come  back  from  Cuba, 

And  I  don't  know  which  way  to  go — 

I  do,  I  don't,  I  go  out  bicycle  walking. 
8  I  like  to  sit  down  by  the  brook, 

Take  a  fishing  line  and  hook, 

And  fish  for  clams,  for  worms  and  sausages; 

And  when  I  see  a  sign  so  near 

That  says:    "No  fishing  go«\s  on  here." 

I  hunt  for  fleas,  for  flies  and  lobsters, 

I  am  an  Irish  hunter,  I  am,  I  ain't, 

I  am  an  Irish  hunter; 

I  hunt  for  beer,  but  not  for  deer, 

I  do,  1  don't.     Now  can  you  know  the  difference? 

4  I  once  went  up  in  a  big  balloon 

To  get  some  cheese  from  off  the  moon; 

But  the  moon  was  full  and  I  was  fuller. 

I  don't  forget  I  took  a  drop, 

I  fell  kerflop  in  a  barber  shop, 

And  got  a  shave — a  shampoo — that's  all. 

I'd  like  to  see  you  after  the  show — I  will — I  won't. 

I'd  like  to  know  which  way  to  go; 

For  I  can't  know  the  wrong  direction — 

I  do.     I  don't.     She  was  bred  in  old  Kentucky 

3*2 


A  BOY  HE  HAD  AN  AUGER 


An  old  English  song  is  revamped  in  American  colleges.  Spoken  final  lines  are  improvised,  as 
follows,  "The  Q  is  silent  as  in  electricity,"  or  "The  bee  is  not  mentioned  as  iu  bumble  or  honey," 
and  so  on. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Allegretto  grazioso 


A     boy,     he  had      an     au 


ger,      It    bored   two  holes     at   once; 


— 


boy,    he   had    an    au    -     ger,     It   bored  two  holes  at  once ;  And  some  were  eat  -  ing 


^      Spoken 


pop  -  corn,   And  some  were  cat-ing  pick-les. 


(And  the  G     is  si -lent  as  in    "lush.") 


s£ 


A  boy,  he  had  an  auger, 
It  bored  two  holes  at  once; 
A  boy,  he  had  an  auger, 
It  bored  two  holes  at  once; 
And  some  were  eating  pop-corn, 
And  some  were  eating  pickles — 
Spoken  (And  the  G  is  silent  as  in  "Fish.") 

843 


ABDUL,  THE  BULBUL  AMEER 


When  the  Ahkoond  of  Swat  passed  away  after  a  lingering  illness,  his  last  words  were  a  message 
of  felicitation  to  Abdul  the  Bulbul  Ameer,  his  kinsman  and  host,  that  the  reign  and  sway  of  that 
potentate  might  be  long,  illustrious,  and  filled  with  deeds  of  distinguished  valor.  This  wish  would 
have  come  tnie,  in  all  likelihood,  but  for  the  sudden  and  dramatic  entrance  on  the  scene  of  Ivan 
Petruski  Skivah,  whose  knife  proved  superior  to  the  chibouque  in  the  culmination  of  the  violent 
conflict,  the  finish  contest,  or  knockdown  and  dragout  affair,  as  one  might  say,  which  ensued  between 
these  two  bitter  opponents  in  classical  language  and  diplomatic  procedure.  ...  Of  the  victor's 
Muscovite  morganatic  bride,  little  is  known  .save  the  fact  that  while  prone  on  her  couch  and  fast 
in  the  arms  of  Morpheus  she  was  heard  frequently  to  pronounce  the  words  "Ivan  Petruski  Skivah." 
.  .  .  The  song  in  which  is  enshrined  this  legend  of  two  embittered  opponents,  is  a  familiar  of 
robustuous  arid  grandiloquent  men  in  both  metropolitan  centers  of  urban  activity  and  in  wilderness 
outposts  of  the  Northwest  Mounted,  so  to  speak;  it  is  vocalized  con  amore  equally  well  in  tuxedo 
vest,  flannel  shirt  or  duck  canvas  pants.  .  .  .  As  a  serial  tale  it  creates  a  climax  which  is  hoist 
by  its  own  petard  .  .  .  The  plot  gets  thicker  and  thicker  till  it  runs  out  of  gas,  discombobu- 
lates,  and  Iwves  two  stuffed  shirts  in  the  wind. 


AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


Con  rwo/0 


The  sons  of  the  Proph-et  are  hard  -  y  and  bold,    And 


»tnrcdto 


quite  un  -  ac  -  cus  -  tomed  to    fear; But    of     all,   the    most  reck -less    of 


344 


ABDUL,  THE  BULDUL  AMEER 


i 


life     or       of     limb,      Was   Ab  -  dul,  the  Bul  -  bul   A  -  meer. 


When  they 


m 


m 


want  -  ed     a     man    to    en  -  cour-age  the  van,  Or     to   shout  *'IIul-  la  -  loo!"  in    the 


-1        1- 


^ 


rear, 


Or    to      storm    a       re  -  doubt,      they  straight-way  sent  out  For 

^ 


-  • 


dbE 
E^= 


^^~3i=3e^=±==!* 
«— "=-»— 1»-± — *     *•    + — *- 


Ab-dul,  the  Bul  -bul  A  -  meer For  Ab  -  dul,  the  Bul -bul  A  -  meer. 


t 


1    1  .  .^      — fruq — y jp^j^__«i  ^     ;^^>q __ 


345 


ABDUL,  THE  BULBUL  AMEER 

1  The  sons  of  the  Prophet  are  hardy  and  bold, 

And  quite  unaccustomed  to  fear; 
But  of  all,  the  most  reckless  of  life  or  of  limb, 

Was  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer. 
When  they  wanted  a  man  to  encourage  the  van, 

Or  to  shout  "Hull-a-loo!"  in  the  rear, 
Or  to  storm  a  redoubt,  they  straightway  sent  out 

For  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer, 

For  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer. 

2  There  are  heroes  in  plenty  and  well-known  to  fame 

In  the  ranks  that  are  led  by  the  Czar; 
But  among  the  most  reckless  of  name  or  of  fame 

Was  Ivan  Petruski  Shivah. 
He  could  imitate  Irving,  play  euchre  or  pool, 

And  perform  on  the  Spanish  guitar; 
In  fact,  quite  the  cream  of  the  Muscovite  team, 

Was  Ivan  Pet  rusk  i  Skivah. 

8  One  morning  the  Russian  had  shouldered  his  gun 

And  put  on  his  most  cynical  sneer, 
When,  going  down  town,  he  happened  to  run 

Into  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer. 
Said  the  Bulbul,  "Young  man,  is  your  life  then  so  dull, 

That  you're  anxious  to  end  your  career? 
For,  infidel,  know  that  you've  trod  on  the  toe 

Of  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer. 

4  Said  the  Russian,  "My  friend,  your  remarks  in  the  end 

Will  only  prove  futile,  I  fear; 
For  I  mean  to  imply  that  you're  going  to  die, 

Mr.  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer." 
The  Bulbul  then  drew  out  his  trusty  chibouque, 

And,  shouting  out  "Allah  Aklar," 
Being  also  intent  upon  slaughter  he  went 

For  Ivan  Petruski  Skivah. 

5  When,  just  as  the  knife  was  ending  his  life — 

In  fact,  he  had  shouted  "Huzza!" — 
He  found  himself  struck  by  that  subtle  Calmuck, 

Bold  Ivan  Petruski  Skivah. 
There's  a  grave  where  the  wave  of  the  blue  Danube  flows, 

And  on  it,  engraven  so  clear, 
Is,  " Stranger,  remember  to  pray  for  the  soul 

Of  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer." 

6  Where  the  Muscovite  maiden  her  vigil  doth  keep 

By  the  light  of  the  true  lover's  star, 
The  name  she  so  tenderly  murmurs  in  sleep 

Is"  Ivan  Petruski  Skivah." 
The  sons  of  the  Prophet  are  hardy  and  bold; 

And  quite  unaccustomed  to  fear; 
But  of  all,  the  most  reckless  of  life  or  of  limb, 

Was  Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer. 

846 


GREENS 


"What  is  close  harmony?"  was  asked  a  glee  club  boy  with  fair  Yale  locks.  He  vouchsafed 
reply,  "Close  harmony  is  so  called  because  the  singers  stand  close  to  each  other  and  watch  each 
other  closely."  .  .  .  Explaining  why  its  music  was  not  written  in  four  parts,  editors  of  the 
book  of  Columbia  University  Songs  declared,  "The  musical  contortionists  will  get  in  their  fine  work 
anyhow,  and  can  always  be  relied  on  to  contribute  their  improvisations  regardless  of  the  arrange- 
ment." .  .  .  The  following  quartet,  octette  or  double  octette  affair,  is  a  "mellow"  (negro  for 
melody)  from  Southern  Methodist  University,  Dallas,  Texas  —  air  and  words  as  sung  by  Loia 
Magnusou. 


Moderate 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Greens,  greens,  good  old       cul  -  lulled  greens,      I    eats  'em  in  the  moh-nin',  I 

^ 


eats   'em   in    the  night,    I      eats 'em   all     the  time;  They  makes  me  feel      just  right. 


Greens,  greens,  good  old  culluhed  greens, 

I  eats  'em  in  the  mohnin', 

I  eats  'em  in  the  night, 

I  eats  'em  all  the  time; 

They  makes  me  feel  just  right. 

847 


ANIMAL  FAIR 


"All  the  old  minstrels,  Dan  Rice,  Dan  Ernmett,  and  all  of  them,  sang  it,"  said  Delaney  about 
Animal  Fair.    .    .     .     "The  monk,  the  monk,  the  monk,"  may  be  repeated  till  out  of  breath. 

Air.  M.  L. 


3 


I      went      to   the  an  -  i  -  mai   fair,  The  birds    and  beasts  were  there.          The 


r~H==± 


-3-3- 


^ 


£ 


big       ba-boon     by  the     light     of  the  moon    Was  comb -ing  his  au  -  burn  hair.  The 


^- 


4J      J-^-J- 


^ 


mon  -  key   he       got   drunk 


And    sat         on   the   el  -    e  -  phant's  trunk,  The 

-^  i   l     ^P 


348 


ANIMAL  FAIR 


i     M   rrr- 

•i    « i .  •>  *— 


g  g  r 


el    -  e-phant  sneezed  and  fell     on  his  knees  And  what  be-came  of  the  monk,  the  monk? 


P* 


m 


I  went  to  the  animal  fair, 

The  birds  and  beasts  were  there. 

The  big  baboon  by  the  light  of  the  moon 

Was  combing  his  auburn  hair. 

CALLIOPE 


The  monkey  he  got  drunk 

And  sat  on  the  elephant's  trunk, 

The  elephant  sneezed  and  fell  on  his  knees 

And  what  became  of  the  monk,  the  monk? 


This  is  customarily  rendered  as  a  stunt  without  words,  as  indicated,  in  falsetto,  soprano  reg- 
ister, and  in  imitation  of  that  mammoth,  invincible,  crowning  feature  of  the  three-ring  circus,  the 
last  wagon  in  the  parade,  the  steam  "kallyope."  Some  quartets  prefer  singing  it  straight  with 
words,  This  House  Is  Haunted.  It  was  widely  known  across  the  Corn  Belt  in  the  1890's.  The 
version  here  is  from  Knox  County,  Illinois. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

(Soprano 


This  house  is  haunt  -  ed, 

/ 


this  house  is  haunt -cd,         It  fair-ly  makes  my  blood 


run 


* 


m 


mf  scmpre 


co-o-old;  This  house  is  haunted,  this  house  is  haunted,    It  fair-ly  makes  my  blood  run  co-o-old. 


lE::* 


5^=E^ 


**F=£ 

V  *  


This  house  is  haunted,  this  house  is  haunted, 
It  fairly  makes  my  blood  run  co-o-old; 
This  house  is  haunted,  this  house  is  haunted, 
It  fairly  makes  my  blood  run  co-o-old. 

349 


SI  HUBBARD 


Circus  barkers  made  up  as  "hayseeds"  sang  and  recited  this  piece  in  the  'Eighties.  It  was 
published  in  the  early  'Seventies  with  the  title  Hey  Rube.  Three  boys  in  Pittsfield,  Illinois,  asked 
a  barker  to  teach  them  the  words.  He  refused.  The  boys  took  turns  listening,  wrote  down  the 
words,  joined  the  three  parts  and  thus  had  the  whole  song.  One  of  the  boys  grew  up,  became  a 
Peoria  lawyer,  then  a  Chicago  lawyer,  and  now  on  cold  winter  nights  when  there  is  no  circus  to 
go  to,  he  sings  it  for  his  own  boy. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

,.      Allegretto  giocoto  $: 


I  J    J     I 

•  ^ 


It         wuz  one  day,  I  be- 


_-,-_-    sjf^tacc.  -^ j  *        • 

J  .X— ^  7~  -_  -_- ^1  J 


J         J        -T 

*-— -^ -± 


1         I      -ifr^frT 


nj — q -j_^_^ JL ^.  »     ^ 

^        __.         p^4_-__4Z         j^      |^      j  ^ 


licve    in    May,    When  old   Si   Hub-bard  to     me    did     say,          "Bar -mini's   cir-cus  has 


W 


^ 


poco  f 


e 


:£ 


-* 
FINE 


D.S. 


come  to  town,   Let's  you  an*     I      go      see    the  clowns." 

~ =r.tp=4=i 


n* 


i 


poco  f 


mf  D.S. 


&  r     f  =p 


rfe: 


SI  HUBBAHO 

It  wuz  one  day,  I  believe  in  May,  when  old  Si  Hubbard  to  me  did  say, 
"Barnum's  circus  has  come  to  town,  let's  you  an*  I  go  see  the  clowns." 

So  we  sold  our  barley,  oats  an*  corn;  in  fact,  we  most  cleaned  out  the  barn; 
Then  went  an*  bought  two  bran'  new  suits,  with  white  plug  hats  an*  red  top-boots. 

An*  when  that  circus  got  around,  we  two  wuz  the  fust  ones  on  the  ground. 
Sez  Si  to  me,  "Let's  go  get  tight,  pull  down  the  tent  an'  have  a  fight." 

"Not  much,"  scz  I,  "I'll  raise  no  feud,"  for  you  sec  I  wuz  skccrcd  of  the  old  'Ilcye  Rube!* 
So  I  proposed  some  red  lemonade  an'  goober  peas  for  which  1  paid. 

'Twuz  a  jolly  good  cuss  who  kept  the  store,  so  we  thought  when  he  asked  us  to  have  some  more. 
Sez  he,  "I  like  you  boys  fust  rate,  so  don't  stand  back;  I'll  stand  the  treat." 

So  Si  an'  I  jist  pitched  right  in,  an'  the  way  we  ate  an'  drank  wuz  a  sin; 
But  when  we  turned  to  go  away  we  heard  that  gosh-durncd  sharper  say: 

"Four  dollars,  quick!  you  Rubes!     Don't  wait,  or  else  to  the  side-show  you'll  be  late." 

50  I  paid  the  cash  like  a  durn  fool  cuss,  an'  of?  to  the  side-show  we  did  rush. 

When  we  got  inside  what  sights  we  seen  wuz  enough  to  turn  our  whiskers  green. 

There  wuz  a  tattooed  man  all  covered  with  ink,  an'  a  dog-faced  boy  called  the  'missing  link.' 

But  the  sight  that  fairly  made  us  shake  wuz  a  great  big  sleepy-lookin'  snake. 

51  pulled  his  jack-knife  out  right  quick  an*  up  to  the  cage  he  then  did  slip, 

An*  he  stabbed  that  snake  an'  jumped  away,  but  I  laughed  for  the  critter  wuz  stuffed  with  hay. 
Now  a  parrot  in  a  cage  close  by  soon  caught  the  gaze  of  foolish  Si; 

Si  didn't  know  this  bird  could  talk  an'  when  it  called  him  a  country  gawk 
He  got  right  mad  an*  jist  for  spite,  he  knocked  that  bird  clean  out  of  sight. 

But  a  monkey  who  wuz  in  the  cage,  at  Si's  conduct  got  in  a  rage, 

An'  to  show  his  love  for  his  feathered  friend,  a  helping  hand  he  allowed  to  lend. 

50  he  grabbed  poor  Si  by  his  red  goatee  an'  it  made  the  whole  crowd  laugh  to  see 

51  tug  an'  pull  to  get  away,  but  the  pesky  monkey  had  come  to  stay. 

An'  he  pulled  Si's  whiskers  so  all-fired  hard  that  his  chin  wuz  as  long  as  the  neck  of  a  gourd; 
All  at  once  I  seed  Si  smile  an'  grin  an'  I  knew  his  troubles  wuz  at  an  end. 

An*  sure  enough,  with  his  knife  so  keen,  he'd  cut  them  whiskers  off  close  to  his  chin. 
When  I  seed  that  face  with  the  goatee  off,  I  coughed  an'  laughed  an'  laughed  an*  coughed. 

An*  two  girls  fainted  at  the  terrible  sight,  an*  the  rest  of  the  crowd  nil  took  to  flight; 

Then  the  showmen  threw  us  out  in  a  hurry  an'  the  gosh-durned  band  played  "Annie  Laurie." 

Sez  I:   "What's  the  next  thing  on  the  docket?"  for  we  both  had  money  in  our  pocket. 
As  if  in  answer  to  my  question,  we  both  looked  in  the  one  direction, 

An*  there,  before  our  very  eyes,  wuz  a  big  balloon  of  enormous  size. 

An'  a  man  in  the  basket  in  skin-tight  clothes  sez,  "Cut  the  rope  an'  let  her  go." 

Sez  Si  to  me,  "I'll  spoil  his  racket,"  an*  he  grabbed  a  rope  that  wuz  hitched  to  the  basket, 

An'  he  tried  to  hold  the  balloon  to  the  ground,  but  the  balloon  wuz  the  strongest,  so  Si  soon  found. 

351 


81  HUBBARD 

An*  to  the  horror  of  the  lookers-on,  up  went  poor  Si  tied  to  the  balloon. 

When  I  seed  Si  goin'  I  rushed  to  his  aid,  an*  a  sudden  dash  for  the  rope  I  made, 

But  my  feet  got  tangled  in  the  coil,  an'  I,  like  Si,  left  native  soil. 

Then  up  in  the  air  like  a  rocket  we  shot,  anf  I  called  to  the  man  in  the  balloon  to  stop; 

But  he  only  smiled  into  my  face,  an*  asked  me  how  I  liked  my  place. 

"Not  much,"  sez  I,  "you  skinny  dude."     "Then  call  me  down,"  sez  he,  "you  rube." 

Sez  I  to  Si,  "Take  out  your  knife  an'  cut  the  rope  an'  save  our  lives." 
An*  Si  in  his  pocket  his  hand  did  slip,  to  get  his  knife,  but  he  lost  his  grip, 

An*  he  lit  right  square  upon  my  face  an'  then  we  both  fell  into  space. 

"Look  out!     We're  comin',"  I  cried  out  loud;  "Oh,  we  don't  care."  came  back  from  the  crowd. 

But  instead  of  alighting  on  the  spot  I  meant,  we  came  smack  down  on  the  animal  tent; 
When  we  lit  the  tent  began  to  tear,  an'  to  save  my  life  I  grabbed  Si's  hair; 

But  his  hair  broke  off  an*  down  I  went  with  Si  on  top,  inside  the  tent. 

An*  we  lit  so  hard  on  a  candy-shop  that  the  whole  durned  band  in  the  circus  stopped. 

An'  then  the  folks  came  running  out  to  see  what  the  racket  wuz  all  about; 
An*  one  of  the  troupers  wanted  to  know  if  we  had  paid  to  get  into  the  show. 

"Why,  no,**  sex  I,  "We  just  dropped  in  to  try  an*  hear  a  circus  ring." 

He  up  with  a  club  an*  he  hit  me  a  crack  which  nearly  broke  my  pesky  back. 

This  made  me  mad  an'  up  I  rose  an'  I  hit  him  square  upon  the  nose. 

He  cried,  "Hey  Rube!"  an'  to  my  surprise,  Hey  Rubes  came  nrunning  thick  as  flies. 

An'  they  grabbed  us  both  an*  tore  our  clothes,  an'  said  they'd  teach  us  to  steal  in  shows. 
"We  didn't  steal  in,"  sez  I  to  the  crowd.     "Why,  no,*'  sez  Si,  "We  dropped  from  the  clouds." 

But  a  constable  who  had  a  badge  on,  an*  like  a  dog's  tail  he  kept  a  wagon, 
Told  Si  an'  I  to  get  inside  an'  with  him  take  a  little  rule. 

When  at  the  calaboose  he  stopped,  he  showed  us  in  an'  the  door  he  locked, 
An*  said  for  being  two  big  Jays,  he*d  have  to  give  us  sixty  days — 

But  once  wuz  enough  for  us,  once  wuz  enough  for  us,  we'll  never  go  to  another  show, 
For  once  wuz  enough  for  us. 


35* 


RAILROAD  AND  WORK  GANGS 


BOLSUM  BROWN         
POOR  PADDY  WORKS  ON  THE  RAILWAY         .... 

HARMONIZATION  BT 

Marion  Lychenheim 
Leo  Sowerby    . 

PAGE 

.     355 
S56 

THE  RAILROAD   CARS  ARE  COMING          
JERRY,  GO  AN*  ILE  THAT  CAR            
IF   I   DIE   A   RAILROAD   MAN      
CAP*N  I   BELIEVE       

Henry  Francis  Parks    . 
Arthur  Faneell 
Hazel  F  elm  an 

.     358 
.     360 
.     362 
363 

JAY  GOULD'S  DAUGHTER  AND  ON  THE  CHARLIE  SO  LONG      . 
CASEY  JONES     
MAMA   HAVE   YOU   HEARD   THE   NEWS?             .... 
DON*   LET  YO*   WATCH   RUN  DOWN          ..... 

Hazel  Felman 
R.  Emmet  Kennedy 
Harry  Gilbert  . 

.     364 
.       .     366 
.     368 
370 

THERE'S  MANY  A  MAN  KILLED  ON  THE  RAILROAD   . 
SHE'LL  BE  COMIN'  ROUND  THE  MOUNTAIN 

I   WENT  DOWN   TO  THE   DEPOT        
EVER  SINCE   UNCLE  JOHN   HENRY   BEEN   DEAD    . 

GO  'WAY  F'OM  MAH  WINDOW       

Hazel  Felman 
Hazel  Felman 
Marion  Lychenheim, 
Hazel  Felman 
Leo  Sowcrby    . 

.     371 
.     372 
.        .     374 
.     376 
377 

MY  LULU    

Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     378 

THE   WIND   IT   BLEW   UP   THE   RAILROAD   TRACK 
HOG-EYE     

Alfred  0.  Wathall  .        . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     379 
.     380 

MY  SISTER  SHE  WORKS  IN  A   LAUNDRY        .... 
I  FOUND  A   HORSE  SHOE          
RAILROAD   BILL           
HANGMAN  

Hazel  Felman 
Henry  Joslyn 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  .       . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     881 
.     382 
.     384 
.     385 

TIMBER        

Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     386 

353 


The  wish  to  gather  and  preserve  popular  song  may  be  viewed  as  accompanying  or  growing 
out  of  the  trend  toward  democracy.  It  parallels  for  literary  history  the  change  taking  place  in  the 
history  of  society  in  general.  Since  the  eighteenth  century  the  attention  of  political  thinkers  has 
descended  through  the  various  strata  of  society  until  the  lowest  strata  are  now  in  the  foreground 
of  interest.  It  has  often  been  pointed  out  that  contemporary  historians  endeavor  to  chronicle 
the  common  man  as  well  as  the  hero.  The  lowly  may  now  serve  as  central  characters  in  fiction 
and  drama  which  were  once  concerned  solely  with  patricians.  Similarly,  the  interest  of  literary 
historians  and  of  students  and  readers  has  extended  downward  from  the  masterpiece  till  it  embraces 
the  humble  and  unrecorded  literature  of  the  folk. 

LOUISE  POUND  in  American  Songs  and  Ballads. 


854 


BOLSUM  BROWN 


Who  he  was,  this  Bolsum  Brown,  and  who  she  was,  the  Sister  Mary  referred  to,  we  do  not  know. 
And  nobody  cares.     But  the  song  passes  the  time  among  the  jxxiple  who  work  for  a  living. 

Arr.  M.  L. 


There's  a    red  light  on  the  track  for  Bolsum  Brown,         For  Bolsum  Bro'wn,  for  Bolsum 


JlJ. 


Brown. 


There's  a     red       light    on      the  track,     and    it'll        be 


£ 


£E^ 


there  when  he  comes  back,  There's  a    red    light    on      the    track  for    Bol  -  sum  Brown. 

^— J      JTT-Hg-- J^3~ ^3EE& 


r 

nt 


r 


r 


r 


=? 


j. 


P 


^ 


•t 


r 


1  There's  a  red  light  on  the  track  for  Bolsum  2  Hop  along,  Sister  Mary,  hop  along, 

Brown,  Hop  along,  hop  along. 

For  Bolsum  Brown,  for  Bolsum  Brown.  There's  a  red  light  on  the  track, 

There's  a  red  light  on  the  track,  And  it'll  be  there  when  he  comes  back. 
And  it'll  be  there  when  he  comes  back. 


There's  a  red  light  on  the  track  for  Bolsum 
Brown. 

355 


There's  a  red  light  on  the  track  for  Bolsum 
Brown. 


POOR  PADDY  WORKS  ON  THE  RAILWAY 

Gangs  of  pick  and  shovel  men  from  Ireland  made  the  dirt  and  gravel  fly  in  the  years  named 
in  this  song,  as  they  were  building  the  many  little  stub  line  railroads  that  were  later  connected  into 
trunk  lines.  Emerson  wrote  then,  "The  poor  Irishman  —  a  wheelbarrow  is  his  country."  It  is  a 
considerable  song  and  has  been  widely  sung  and  known  since  its  publication  in  sheet  music  in  the 
early  1850's.  Since  then,  too,  the  Irish  have  had  a  high  percentage  of  railway  executives;  they 
have  a  faculty  for  railroading. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


3gggE 


Oh 


in  eigh  -  teerihun-dredand  for    -   ty  one      My  cor-  du-roybritch  - 


*  ft :~:\ — i — p_i  — f— ( ^p^-  H- — F :  --I    —  4—  -f-1  -4 — 4- — pr-4-    \      \~\    I      <       -I        II   ^=j 


I      put  on,  My   eor-du-roy    britches    I      put  on,    To  work  up -on    the    rail  -way,  the 

/IN 


F^P^ 
'3~fF=f 


-*- 


rail  -  way,  I'm  wea-ry  of    the  rail  -  way;      Oh  poor  Pad-dy  works  on  the  rail  -  way! 

sr\ 
/IN 


—-£~1 r-^ -ft 1         (         i     ,     . r „ 


356 


POOR  PADDY  WORKS  ON  THE  RAILWAY 

1  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty -one 
My  corduroy  britches  I  put  on, 

My  corduroy  britches  I  put  on, 

To  work  upon  the  railway,  the  railway, 

I'm  weary  of  the  railway; 

Oh  poor  Paddy  works  on  the  railway! 

2  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-two 
I  did  not  know  what  I  should  do, 

I  did  not  know  what  I  should  do, 

To  work  upon  the  railway,  the  railway, 

I'm  weary  of  the  railway; 

Oh  poor  Paddy  works  on  the  railway ! 

8  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-three 
I  sailed  away  across  the  sea, 
I  sailed  away  across  the  sea, 
To  work  upon  the  railway,  the  railway, 
I'm  weary  of  the  railway; 
Oh  poor  Paddy  works  on  the  railway! 

4  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-four 
I  landed  on  Columbia's  shore, 

I  landed  on  Columbia's  shore, 

To  work  upon  the  railway,  the  railway, 

I'm  weary  of  the  railway; 

Oh  poor  Paddy  works  on  the  railway! 

5  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-five 
When  Daniel  O'Connell  he  was  alive, 
When  Daniel  O'Connell  he  was  alive, 
To  work  upon  the  railway,  the  railway, 
I'm  weary  of  the  railway; 

Oh  poor  Paddy  works  on  the  railway! 

6  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-six 

I  changed  my  trade  to  carrying  bricks, 
I  changed  my  trade  to  carrying  bricks, 
From  working  on  the  railway,  the  railway, 
I  was  weary  of  the  railway; 
Oh  poor  Paddy  worked  on  the  railway! 

7  Oh  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-seven 
Poor  Paddy  was  thinking  of  going  to  Heaven, 
Poor  Paddy  was  thinking  of  going  to  Heaven, 
After  working  on  the  railway,  the  railway, 
He  was  weary  of  the  railway; 

Oh  poor  Paddy  worked  on  the  railway  I 

357 


THE  RAILROAD  CARS  ARE  COMING 


Federal  government  experiments  with  camels  in  the  1850's  were  no  go.  The  hope  was  that 
caravans  of  dromedaries  might  carry  freight  traffic  from  New  Orleans  to  the  west  coast.  .  .  . 
Horse,  mule,  burro,  were  good  overland  freighters.  But  the  box  car  was  better;  it  gave  cruel  desert 
spaces  a  friendly  and  human  look.  ...  As  the  work  gangs  spiked  rails  to  ties  and  the  eastern  and 
western  gangs  came  closer,  this  song  arose,  one  verse  with  jubilation,  one  with  laughter  at  the  prairie 
dog,  the  rattlesnake  and  owl  having  their  dominion  of  the  desert  interrupted.  .  .  .  We  have  this 
text  and  tune  from  Margery  K.  Forsythe  of  Chicago,  who  learned  it  from  her  pioneer  mother. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


•p — sj- 

-—-— ^ .J— 


The  great  Pa-cif-ie  rail-way,    for  Cal  -  i  -  for  -  ni  -  a  hail !     Bring  on  the  lo  -  co  -  mo-tive,    Lay 


tt/kl4lZL  jCI  I*i~^'7.1.  ~^Z  -    ' .-'  -'-^|~~' 


r— ?- 


=fr 

?-_-jLi; 


^zrijc^fpiTz3Ljfiii 


down  the  i  -  ron   rail;    A  -  cross  the  roll  -  ing  prair-ies,         By  Steam  we're  bound  to  go,  The 


•f-~ ^^t^f- — j— f-f 

^=3F^L=g=L3-£ii. 


rail-road  cars  are  corn-ing,  hum-ming  Through  .  .  .  New  Mex  -  i  -  co, The 


THE  RAILROAD  CAHS  AHK  COMING 


£ 


i 


rail  -  road  cars  are  com-ing,  hum-ming  Through 


New  Mex  -  i  -  co. 


The  great  Pacific  railway, 

For  California  hail ! 
Bring  on  the  locomotive, 

Lay  down  the  iron  rail; 
Across  the  rolling  prairies 

By  steam  we're  bound  to  go, 
The  railroad  cars  are  coming,  humming 

Through  New  Mexico, 
The  railroad  cars  are  coming,  humming 

Through  New  Mexico. 


The  little  dogs  in  dog-town 

Will  wag  each  little  tail; 
They'll  think  that  something's  coming 

A-riding  on  a  rail. 
The  rattle-snake  will  show  its  fangs, 

The  owl  tu-whit,  tu-who, 
The  railroad  cars  are  coming,  humming 

Through  New  Mexico, 
The  railroad  cars  are  coming,  humming 

Through  New  Mexico. 


JERRY,  GO  AN'  ILE  THAT  CAR 


In  1884  Charles  Lummis  heard  Gunnysack  Riley  sing  this  at  Albuquerque,  New  Mexico- 
Later,  as  an  editor,  he  wanted  the  verses  and  put  the  matter  up  to  Santa  Fe  railroad  officials,  who 
sent  out  a  general  order  covering  the  whole  system,  calling  for  verses  to  Jerry  Go  An'  De  That  Car. 
A  lost  song  was  dug  up.  ...  Of  the  text  here,  Lumrais  says,  "The  words  are  pretty  nearly  con- 
clusive, but  any  one  who  can  round  them  out  will  do  service  to  history."  ,  .  .  The  tune  is  given 
as  notated  by  Arthur  Farwell  from  Charles  Lummis  as  learned  from  Gunnysack  Riley. 


Afodfralo 


Arr.  A.  F 


, 

J 


3t=rc=c  -f — y 
I        I         K   l±=£ 


. 


Come  all       ye   rail  -  road  sec  -  tion  men,      An*    lis  -  ten     to      my    song, 


«/ 


P 


E=F=j= 


. 


j=^=it 


is       of     Lar  -  ry    O'      Sul  •  li  -  van,      Who    now    is    dead  and    gone. 


For 


«* 


err  —  r  —  rT- 

-f  —  P  —  P-  —  P- 

jf—  '•  —  J     ^L 

1  S  ,N- 

KIT     h          r           I              K 

I                              t                 V* 

*            M 

ty                                                   " 

twin  -  ty  years       a 

£z     JL'     f~  *     <• 

sec  -  tion  boss,      He 

f  f   f  '  f 

niv  -  er     hired    a 

f    f    r     M 

CJ  ±                         *        * 

tar  —              Oh,   it's 
J                     J 

-^p  ^  —  «^  1^  j^  —  s  tr  — 

"V  —  H  —  K~:  —  K~" 

-f  —  H  T  h~ 

-«K  ^  

KIV     "I-  '            1              r       -   -  -  j    - 

•4-  —  F-  —  F—  —  &~ 

4  p  L  ^  — 

.  J  

L_|  1  i                     i^  1 

1    r    r 

Hs^-i  *  ' 

360 


JERRY,  GO  AN'  ILE  THAT  CAR 


"j'int"  a  -  head  and    cm  -  ter   back,  An'   Jer  -  ry,     go   an'    ile     that  car-r-r!" 


1  Come  all  ye  railroad  section  men, 

An*  listen  to  my  song; 
It  is  of  Larry  O'Sullivan, 

Who  now  is  dead  and  gone. 
For  twinty  years  a  section  boss, 

He  niver  hired  a  tar — 
Oh,  it's  "  j'int  ahead  and  cinter  back, 

An*  Jerry,  go  an*  ile  that  car-r-r!" 

2  For  twinty  years  a  section  boss 

He  worked  upon  the  track, 
And  be  it  to  his  cred-i-it, 

He  niver  had  a  wrack, 
For  he  kept  every  j'int  right  up  to  the  p'int 

Wid  the  tap  of  the  tampin'-bar-r; 
And  while  the  byes  was  a-shimmin'  up  the  tics, 

It's  "Jerry,  wud  yez  ile  that  car-r-r !" 

3  God  rest  ye,  Larry  O'Sullivan, 

To  me  ye  were  kind  an'  good; 
Ye  always  made  the  section  men 

Go  out  and  chop  me  wood; 
An'  fetch  me  wather  from  the  well, 

An'  cut  the  kindlin'  fine; 
And  anny  man  that  wudn't  lind  a  han' 

Twos  Larry'd  give  him  his  Time. 


4  And  ivery  Sunday  marni-i-ing 

Unto  the  gang  he'd  say: 
"Me  byes,  prepare — yez  be  aware 

The  ould  lady  goes  to  church  the  day. 
Now  I  want  ivery  man  to  pump  the  best  that 

For  the  distance  it  is  far-r-r;  (he  can, 

An'  we  have  to  get  in  ahead  of  Number  10 — 

So,  Jerry,  go  an'  ile  that  car-r-r!" 

5  Twas  in  November,  in  the  winter  time, 

An'  the  ground  all  covered  wid  snow, 
"Come,  putt  the  hand-car-r  on  the  track, 

An*  over  the  section  go!" 
Wid  his  big  sojer  coat  buttoned  up  to  his  t'roat 

All  weathers  he  wud  dare — - 
An'  it's  "Paddy  Mack,  will  yez  walk  the  track, 

An*  Jerry,  go  an*  ile  that  car-r-r!" 

6  "Give  ray  rispicts  to  the  Roadmas-ther," 

Poor  Larry  he  did  cry, 
"And  lave  me  up,  that  I  may  see 

The  ould  hand-car-r  before  I  die. 
Then  lay  the  spike-maul  upon  his  chist, 

The  gauge  an'  the  ould  claw-bar-r, 
And  while  the  byes  do  be  fillin'  up  the  grave, 

Oh,  Jerry,  go  and  ile  that  car-r-r!" 


861 


IF  I  DIE  A  RAILROAD  MAN 

O  Lord,  let  it  rain, 

Wet  my  little  dress! 

So  that  corn  will  be  cheaper 

Arid  I  can  fill  my  belly! 


This  translation  from  hieroglyphics  on  an  ancient  Egyptian  temple  is  among  the  oldest  known 
songs  of  working  jwople.  It  is  not  a  far  cry  from  such  lines  to  the  replies  of  a  witness  before  the 
industrial  relations  commission,  who  told  the  commission's  examiner,  Frank  P.  Walsh,  that  he  and 
other  railroad  men  had  at  a  certain  time  been  "sitting  and  talking."  "What  were  you  talking 
about?"  "Oh,  just  railroad  talk."  "Anything  particular  in  railroad  talk."  "No,  just  railroad 
talk."  "Well,  could  you  tell  us  just  what  you  mean  by  railroad  talk?"  "Oh — whiskey — and 
women — and  higher  wages  and  shorter  hours.".  .  .  .  The  lyric  here  is  a  white  and  negro  blend  in 
its  making;  it  was  heard  at  the  University  of  Kentucky;  the  young  man  who  sang  it  said  the  notes 
are  sometimes  "blued"  and  it  is  then  called  The  Louisville  &  Nashville  Blues. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


They    took  John    Hen-ry  to  the  steep     hill -side;         He    looked    to  the  heav-en     a- 


i 


bove. 


He  says:  "Take  my       ham-mer      and   wrap     it       in         gold  And 


WV^ 


IF  1  DIE  A  RAILROAD  MAN 


^ 


frrTsjLtM 


give  it  to  the  girl       I      love,  And  give  it    to  the  girl       I 


love, 


i 


1  They  took  John  Henry  to  the  steep  hillside; 
He  looked  to  the  heaven  above. 
He  says:  "Take  my  hammer  and  wrap  it  in  gold 
And  give  it  to  the  girl  I  love, 
And  give  it  to  the  girl  I  love. 


"If  I  die  a  railroad  man, 
Go  bury  me  under  the  tie, 
So  I  ran  hear  old  No.  4 
As  she  goes  rolling  by, 
As  she  goes  rolling  by. 


8  "If  I  die  a  railroad  man, 
Go  bury  me  under  the  sand, 
With  a  pick  and  a  shovel  at  my  head  and  feet, 
And  a  nine-pound  hammer  in  my  hand, 
And  a  nine-pound  hammer  in  my  hand." 


CAP'N,  I  BELIEVE 


When  Tubman  K.  Hedrick,  poet  and  philosopher,  was  a  water  boy  on  a  building  construction 
job  in  a  Texas  town,  he  heard  negroes,  going  up  a  ladder  with  hods  of  mortar,  chanting  "Cap'n, 
I  believe"  to  the  bricklayers  above  who  replied  as  our  text  indicates.  It  reminds  us  of  one  Pat 
who  told  one  Mike,  "All  I  do  is  carry  the  bricks  up  the  ladder—  the  man  on  top  does  all  the  work." 


Cap'n, 


be  -  lieve,      Cap'n,       I        be  -  lieve,      Cap'n,        I        be  *  lieve, 


i=H 


be-lieve,         be-15eve  I'll  die.      "Oh,  no,  you  ain't  gon-na  die.  Come  on  with  that 

mo-tah!"    Cap'n,  etc. 


JAY  GOULD'S  DAUGHTER  and  ON  THE  CHARLIE  SO  LONG 


The  Goulds  arid  the  Vanderbilts  were  big  names  in  railroading  in  the  1880's.  Daughters  in 
both  families  found  their  way  into  railroad  and  hobo  songs.  .  .  .  The  "blind**  baggage  car,  with 
a  platform  but  no  front  door,  hooked  on  just  back  of  the  engine  tender,  was  a  place  bums  rode; 
engine  crews  sometimes  gave  them  hot  water.  .  .  .Srnoke,  dust,  gravel,  get  into  the  nose  and  eyes, 
and  grind  into  the  skin  of  those  riding  the  rods  under  a  box  car  or  in  the  trucks  of  a  passenger  coach; 
loosening  a  hold  or  going  to  sleep  means  death.  .  .  .  The  same  tune  goes  for  Jay  Gould's  daughter 
and  that  train  wreck  ballad  On  The  Charlie  So  Long  (B).  Both  texts  are  from  the  collection  of 
John  Lomax  while  the  tune  is  from  the  singing  of  Mrs.  Lomax. 


Rather  fast 


Arr.  H.  F. 


On    a     Mon-day  morn-in*  it    be  -  gan    to    rain; 


A  •  roun*     the  bend  come  a 


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good        old      ho  -   bo,    but    he's    dead    an* 


gone. 


Dead  an*        gone, 


JAY  GOULD'S  DAUGHTER 


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iEEEjEE^EEEjE 


dead  and   gone,   He's  a  good  old    ho  -  bo,   but  he's  dead  and  gone. 


1  On  a  Monday  mornin*  it  began  to  rain;  3 
Aroun'  the  bend  come  a  passenger  train. 

On  the  bumpers  was  a  hobo  John; 

He's  a  good  old  hobo,  but  he's  dead  and  gone. 

Dead  and  gone,  dead  and  gone, 
He's  a  good  old  hobo,  but  he's  dead  and  gone. 

2  Charley  Snyder  was  a  good  engineer,  4 
He  told  his  fireman  not  to  fear, 

All  he  needed  was  water  and  coal ; 

Put  your  head  out  the  window,  see  the  drivers  roll, 

See  the  drivers  roll,  see  the  drivers  roll. 
Put  your  head  out  the  window,  see  the  drivers  roll. 


Jay  Gould's  daughter  said  before  she  died: 
"There's  one  more  road  I'd  like  to  ride." 
"Tell  me,  daughter,  what  can  it  be?" 
"It's  in  southern  California  on  the  Santa  Fe, 

On  the  Santa  Fe,  on  the  Santa  Fe, 
It's  in  southern  California  on  the  Santa  Fe." 

Jay  Gould's  daughter  said  before  she  died, 
"Father,  fix  the  blind  so  the  bums  can't  ride; 
If  ride  they  must,  let  them  ride  the  rod, 
Let  'em  put  their  trust  in  the  hands  of  God, 
In  the  hands  of  Go<i»  in  the  hands  of  God, 
Let  'em  put  their  trust  in  the  hands  of  God." 


ON  THE  CHARLIE  SO  LONG 


1  On  a  Monday  morning  it  began  to  rain, 
Around  the  bend  come  a  passenger  train; 
On  the  bumpers  was  an  old  Jimrnie  Jones, 
He's  a  good  old  porter  but  he's  dead  and  gone; 

Dead  and  gone,  dead  and  gone, 
'Case  he  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long. 

2  Joseph  Mickle  was  a  good  engineer, 
Told  the  fireman  never  to  fear; 

All  he  wanted  was  to  get  her  good  and  hot, 
"We'll  make  Paris  'bout  four  o'clock, 

'Bout  four  o'clock,  'bout  four  o'clock, 
'Case  we  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long." 

3  When  we  got  within  a  mile  of  the  place, 
Number  One  stared  us  right  in  the  face; 
The  conductor  pulled  his  watch,  and  mumbled 

and  said, 
"  We  may  make  it  but  we'll  all  be  dead, 

We'll  all  be  dead,  we'll  all  be  dead, 
'Case  we  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long.0 


4  As  the  two  locomotives  was  about  to  bump, 
The  fireman  prepared  to  make  his  jump; 
The  engineer  blowed  the  whistle,  and  the  fire- 
man bawled, 

"  Please,  Mr.  Conductor,  won't  you  save  us  all? 
Won't  you  save  us  all?    Won't  you  save  us  all? 
'Case  you  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long." 

5  O  you  ought  to  been  there  for  to  see  the  sight, 
Screaming  and  yelling,  both  colored  and  white; 
Some  were  crippled  and  some  were  lame, 
And  the  six-wheel  driver  had  to  bear  the  blame, 

Had  to  bear  the  blame,  had  to  bear  the 
'Case  he  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long,    [blame, 

6  O  ain't  it  a  pity,  ain't  it  a  shame? 

The  six-wheel  driver  had  to  bear  the  blame. 
Some  were  crippled,  and  some  were  lame, 
And  the  six-wheel  driver  had  to  bear  the  blame, 
Had  to  bear  the  blame,  had  to  bear  the 
'Case  he  been  on  the  Charlie  so  long,   [blame, 


365 


CASEY  JONES1 

At  Dodge  City,  Kan  Has,  in  the  Santa  Fe  railway  station  grass  and  flower  plot,  stands  a  plain 
memorial,  a  wooden  i>ost  painted  white  with  the  reminder  in  black  letters:  Lest  We  Forget. 
Fastened  to  the  post  is  an  old  time,  cast-iron  Link-and-Pin,  the  slaughterer,  the  crepe  hanger,  the 
maker  of  one-arrned  men  peddling  lead  pencils  on  payday  night,  the  predecessor  of  the  beneficent 
Safety  Coupler.  .  .  .  The  laughter  of  the  railroad  man  at  death  and  mutilation  runs  through  many 
of  his  songs.  The  promise  of  a  wooden  kimono,  a  six  foot  bungalow,  is  with  him  on  every  trip 
whether  he's  on  a  regular  run  or  the  extra  list,  and  no  matter  what  his  seniority.  .  .  .  Verses  sung 
by  railroad  men  were  printed  in  that  remarkably  American  j>eriodical,  The  Railroad  Man's  Maga- 
zine, under  the  editorship  of  Robert  Davis.  .  .  .  Then  came  the  sheet  music  version,  widely  popular. 
Lumberjacks,  college  girls,  aviators,  and  doughboys,  have  made  versions  of  their  own.  .  .  .  Songs 
are  like  [>eople,  animals,  plants.  They  have  genealogies,  pedigrees,  thoroughbreds,  cross-breeds, 
mongrels,  strays,  and  often  a  strange  love-child.  .  .  .  The  Casey  Jones  song  may  stem  from  several 
earlier  pieces  that  have  the  same  gait,  freckles,  disposition,  color  of  hair  and  eyes.  Among  such 
earlier  pieces  are  Brady  Why  Didn't  You  Run?,  Jay  Gould's  Daughter,  On  The  Charlie  So  Long, 
Vanderbilt's  Daughter,  Mama  Have  You  Heard  the  News?  and  all  the  earlier  known  songs  in  which 
figure  Casey  Jones,  K.  C.  Jones,  David  Jones,  and  still  other  Joneses.  .  .  .  Two  melodies  are 
presented  here.  One  is  the  traditional  Casey  Jones,  the  other  (B)  is  the  lesser  known  Mama  Have 
You  Heard  the  News?  Some  verses  of  the  two  songs  are  as  interchangeable  as  standard  box  cars; 
others  are  narrow  gauge  and  dinky.  The  second  tune  (B)  is  one  notated  in  Ohio  by  Josephine 
Winston  of  the  University  of  North  Carolina. 

Arr.  R.  E.  K. 


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CASEY  JONES 


a—  j    /I  J  j.  T-j  -"  J  J 


round -er's  name*    On     a     heav-y    big  eight  wheeler  of     a     might    •     y   fame. 


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1  Come  all  you  rounders,  for  I  want  you  to  hear, 
The  story  of  a  brave  engineer. 

Casey  Jones  was  the  rounder's  name. 
On  a  big  eight  wheeler  of  a  mighty  fame. 

2  Caller  railed  Casey  'bout  half-past  four, 
He  kissed  his  wife  at  the  station  door. 
Climbed  to  the  cab  with  the  orders  in  his  hand, 
He  says,  "This  is  rny  trip  to  the  holy  land." 

8  Out  of  South  Memphis  yard  on  the  fly, 

Heard  the  fireman  say,  "You  got  a  white  eye." 
Well,  the  switchmen  knew  by  the  engine  moan 
That  the  man  at  the  throttle  was  Casey  Jones. 

4  The  rain  was  com  in*  down  five  or  six  weeks. 
The  railroad  track  was  like  the  bed  of  a  creek. 
They  slowed  her  down  to  a  thirty  mile  gait 

And  the  south-bound  mail  was  eight  hours  late. 
< 

5  Fireman  says,  "Casey,  you're  runnin'  too  fast, 

You  run  that  block  board  the  last  station  you  passed/* 
Casey  says,  "I  believe  we'll  make  it  though, 
For  she  steams  a  lot  better  than  I  ever  know." 

6  Casey  says,  "Fireman,  don't  you  fret, 

Keep  knockin'  at  the  fire  door,  don't  give  up  yet, 

I'm  going  to  run  her  till  she  leaves  the  rail, 

Or  make  it  on  time  with  the  south -bound  mail." 

7  Around  the  curve  and  down  the  dump, 
Two  locomotives  was  a  bound  to  jump, 
Fireman  hollered,  "Casey,  it's  just  ahead, 

We  might  jump  and  make  it  but  we'll  all  be  dead." 

867 


CASEY  JONES 

8  Around  the  curve  comes  a  passenger  train, 

Casey  blows  the  whistle,  tells  the  fireman,  "Ring  the  bell/* 
Fireman  jumps  and  says  "Good-by, 
Casey  Jones,  You're  bound  to  die." 

9  Well  Casey  Jones  was  all  right. 

He  stuck  to  his  duty  day  and  night. 

They  loved  his  whistle  and  his  ring  number  three, 

And  he  came  into  Memphis  on  the  old  I.  C. 

10  Fireman  goes  down  the  depot  track, 
Begging  his  honey  to  take  him  back, 

She  says,  "Oranges  on  the  table,  peaches  on  the  shelf, 
You're  a  goin'  to  get  tired  sleepin'  by  yourself." 

11  Mrs.  Casey  Jones  was  a  sittin*  on  the  bed. 
Telegram  comes  that  Casey  is  dead. 

She  says,  "Children,  go  to  bed,  and  hush  your  cryin', 
'Cause  you  got  another  papa  on  the  Frisco  line." 

12  Headaches  and  heartaches  and  all  kinds  of  pain. 
They  ain't  apart  from  a  railroad  train. 

Stories  of  brave  men,  noble  and  grand, 
Belong  to  the  life  of  a  railroad  man. 


B 


MAMA  HAVE  YOU  HEARD  THE  NEWS? 


Arr.  H.  G. 

I       K 


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Ma-ma,  ma-ma,  ma-ma  have  you  heard  the  news?  Dad-dy  got  killed  on  the  C-B-and  Q's; 


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368 


MAMA  HAVE  YOU  HEARD  THE  NEWS? 


i 


^ 


Shut  your  eyes  and    hold    your  breath,  We'll  all  draw  a  pen  -  sion  up  -  on  pa-  pa's  death, 


3f=* 


•*—*- 


Up  -on  pa-pa's  death,  up  -on  pa-pa*s  death,  We  will  all  draw  a  pen-sion  up-on  pa-pa*s  death. 


1  Mama,  mama,  mama  have  you  heard  the  news? 
Daddy  got  killed  on  the  C-B-and  Q's. 
Shut  your  eyes  and  hold  your  breath, 
We'll  all  draw  a  pension  upon  papa's  death. 
Upon  papa's  death,  upon  papa's  death, 
We  will  all  draw  a  pension  upon  papa's  death. 

£  Early  in  the  morning  when  it  looked  like  rain 
Around  the  curve  came  a  gravel  train; 
On  the  train  was  Casey  Jones, 
He's  a  good  old  rounder  but  he's  dead  and  gone, 
But  he's  dead  and  gone,  he's  dead  and  gone, 
He's  a  good  old  rounder  but  he's  dead  and  gone. 

3  All  the  way  by  the  last  board  he  passed, 
Thirty-five  minutes  late  with  the  U.  S.  mail, 
Casey  Jones  to  his  fireman  said, 

"We'll  make  it  into  Canton  or  leave  the  rail, 

Or  leave  the  rail,  or  leave  the  rail, 

We'll  make  it  into  Canton  or  leave  the  rail." 

4  When  Casey's  family  heard  of  his  death 
Casey's  daughter  fell  on  her  knees, 
"Mama,  mama,  how  can  it  be 

Papa  got  killed  on  the  old  I.  C.?" 

"O  hush  your  mouth  and  hold  your  breath, 

"We'll  all  draw  a  pension  from  Casey's  death.*' 

169 


DON*  LET  YO'  WATCH  RUN  DOWN 

The  toiling  negro  on  railroad,  levee,  dump,  his  knees  in  mud,  and  thinking  of  his  "luluh",  begs 
cap'n  (boss  or  gang  foreman)  to  have  the  time  of  day  correct.  .  .  .  "  Workin' "  may  be  "wukhin ' ". 
"Haist"  means  "hoist."  Third  verse  lines  with  dialect  out  would  read: 

When  you  see  me  coming 
Hoist  your  windows  high; 
When  you  see  me  leaving 
Hang  down  your  heads  and  cry, 

Brownskins, 
Hang  down  your  heads  and  cry. 

We  have  tli  is  text  and  tune  from  a  notable  treatise  on  South  Texas  Negro  Work-Songs  by  Gates 
Thomas  in  No.  5  of  Publications  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society. 


3 


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Don9   let     yo*  watch  run  down,     Cap  -  'n,  Don*   let     yo'  watch  run      down. 


J     J 


Work-in'  on    de     lev  -    ee,     dol-lar'n  half    a     day,    Work-in'    for     my     lu  -    luh, 


w 


get    -     tin'    mo'    dan      pay,     Cap  -  'n,       Get    -    tin'    mo*    dan        pay. 


1  Don'  let  yo'  watch  run  down,  Cap'n,  2  Don*  let  yo'  watch  run  down,  Cap'n, 

Don*  let  yo'  watch  run  down.  Don*  let  yo'  watch  run  down. 

Workin'  on  de  levee,  dollar  'n  half  a  day,  Workin'  on  de  railroad,  mud  up  to  my  knees, 

Workin'  for  my  hiluh,  gettin*  mo*  dan  pay,  Workin'  for  my  luluh,  she's  a  hard  ole  gal  to 


Cap'n, 
Gettin'  mo*  dan  pay. 


please,  Cap'n, 
She's  a  hard  ole  gal  to  please. 


3  Don'  let  yo'  watch  run  down,  Cap'n, 
Don'  let  yo'  watch  run  down. 
When  you  see  me  comin*  haist  yo'  windo's  high, 
When  you  see  me  leavin'  hang  down  yo'  heads  an*  cry,  brownskins, 
Hang  down  yo'  heads  an*  cry. 

870 


THERE'S  MANY  A  MAN  KILLED  ON  THE  RAILROAD 


The  crying  out  loud  is  heard  here;  over  smash-ups,  head-on  collisions,  cow-catchers  telescoped 
in  cabooses,  the  iron  horse  meeting  a  broken  rail  and  taking  a  tumble  down  an  enbankment,  the 
undertakers'  harvest  that  came  after  someone  was  asleep  at  the  switch — the  crying  out  loud  is 
heard  here.  ...  It  is  the  landlubl>er  brother  of  the  sailor  windlass  song  A  Hundred  Years  Is  A 
Very  Long  Time.  .  .  .  The  prolonged  repetitions  of  the  word  "r-a-M-r-o-a-d"  go  with  a  crying  out 
loud. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


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There's  man    -    y         a       man      killed       on         the       rail    -    road, 


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rail  -    road, 


rail  -  road.  There's  man  -  y       a       man  killed     on    the 


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An'         cast       in         a        lone    -    ly       grave. 


rail  -  road, 


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There's  many  a  man  killed  on  the  railroad,  railroad,  railroad, 
There's  many  a  man  killed  on  the  railroad, 
An*  cast  in  a  lonely  grave. 

871 


SHE'LL  BE  COMIN'  ROUND  THE  MOUNTAIN 


An  old-time  negro  spiritual  When  the  Chariot  Comes  (B)  was  made  by  mountaineers  into 
Shell  Be  Comin'  Round  the  Mountain,  and  the  song  spread  to  railroad  work  gangs  in  the  midwest 
in  the  18f)0's. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


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She'll  be  corn-in*  round  the  mountain,  When  she  comes. 


She'll  be  corn-in*  round  the 


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numn-tain,  When  she  comes. 


She'll  be  com  -  in*  round  the  moun-tain,  She'll  be 


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com-in'  round  the  mountain,  She'll  be  com-in'  round  the  mountain,  When  she  comes. 


SHE'LL  BE  COMIN'  ROUND  THE  MOUNTAIN 


1  She'll  be  com  in*  round  the  mountain, 

When  she  comes. 
She'll  be  comin'  round  the  mountain, 

When  she  comes. 

She'll  be  comin*  round  the  mountain, 
She'll  be  comin'  round  the  mountain, 
She'll  be  comin'  round  the  mountain, 

When  she  comes. 


Shell  be  drivin*  six  white  horses, 

When  she  comes. 
She'll  be  drivin'  six  white  horses, 

When  she  comes. 
She'll  be  drivin'  six  white  horses, 
She'll  be  drivin'  six  white  horses, 
She'll  be  drivin'  six  white  horses, 

When  she  comes. 


3  Oh  we'll  all  go  to  meet  her, 

When  she  comes. 
Oh  we'll  all  go  to  meet  her, 

When  she  comes. 
We  will  kill  the  old  red  rooster, 
We  will  kill  the  old  red  rooster, 
And  we'll  all  have  chicken  and  dumplin', 

When  she  comes. 


B 

1  O,  who  will  drive  the  chariot  when  she  comes? 
O,  who  will  drive  the  chariot  when  she  comes? 

O,  who  will  drive  the  chariot,  O  who  will  drive  the  chariot, 
O,  who  will  drive  the  chariot  when  she  comes? 

2  King  Jesus,  he'll  be  driver  when  she  comes, 

3  She'll  be  loaded  with  bright  angels, 

4  She  will  neither  rock  nor  totter, 

5  She  will  run  so  level  and  steady, 

6  She  will  take  us  to  the  portals. 


373 


I  WENT  DOWN  TO  THE  DEPOT 


This  is  the  negro  version  of  the  Jesse  James  ballad,  as  heard  by  Charles  Rockwood  in  work 
gangs  of  the  south. 

Arr.  M.  L. 


Ek-JIJ'J.  J,    |g 


I  went  down  to  the  de-pot,      not  man-y  nights  a  -  go,       And  there  I  done  something  I 


;.  ijj.  A 


nev  -  er  done  be  -  fore.         I     got  down  on  my  knees  And  de-liv-ered    up   the  keys   To 


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"  —  fir 

n- 

M   J.  J  J    | 

^"J  ^~?  ^ 

Frank  and  his  bro-ther  Jes  -  se  James. 

Po'   Jes  •  se  James, 

po'    Jes  -  se  James,    I'll 

(feiLJzJ^-d— 

*  -3- 

f- 

^ 
*           -   -  .  . 

jr^71  j—  -i 
j  j    bJij^ 

'  f    F'r 

I.J      J          JuJ.=q 

r 

^5,,-,,,,  «^-,  •    ,  -    ..3      ^j    i      *  "  r  - 

r  =   r        r 

374 


I  WENT  DOWN  TO  THB  DEPOT 


s 


^ 


nev-cr  see  my  Jes-se  an  -  y     more; 


'Twas  a  dirt-y    lit  -tie  cow-ard      He 


r    r    r 


f=jf=M 


m 


shot      Mis  -  ter  How-ard    An*     he    laid       Jes  -  se  James      in       his    grave. 


1  I  went  down  to  the  depot,  not  many  nights  ago, 
And  there  I  done  something  I  never  done  before. 
I  got  down  on  my  knees 
And  delivered  up  the  keys 
To  Frank  and  his  brother  Jesse  James. 
Po'  Jesse  James,  po'  Jesse  James, 
I'll  never  see  my  Jesse  any  more; 
'Twas  a  dirty  little  coward 
He  shot  Mister  Howard 
An*  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 


Jesse  James  was  a  man  and  he  had  a  robber  band, 
And  he  flagged  down  the  east  bound  train. 
Robert  Ford  watched  his  eye, 
And  he  shot  him  on  the  sly, 
And  they  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 
Po'  Jesse  James,  po'  Jesse  James 
I'll  never  see  my  Jesse  any  more. 
'Twas  a  dirty  little  coward 
That  shot  Mister  Howard 
And  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 


3  Jesse  James*  little  wife  was  a  moaner  all  her  life 
When  they  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 
She  earned  her  daily  bread 
By  her  needle  and  her  thread 
When  they  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 
Po'  Jesse  James,  po'  Jesse  James, 
I'll  never  see  my  Jesse  any  more. 
Robert  Ford's  pistol  ball 
Brought  him  tumbling  from  the  wall 
And  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 


EVER  SINCE  UNCLE  JOHN  HENRY  BEEN  DEAD 


This,  as  sung  on  western  railroads,  probably  derives  from  the  famous  John  Henry  ballad.  It 
may  be  sung  with  pick  and  shovel  motions  for  the  tamping  of  railroad  ties  or  the  swings  of  a  hammer 
breaking  hard  rock,  "ever  since"  for  one  stroke,  "Uncle  John"  with  another  stroke,  "Henry 
been"  once  more,  "dead"  once  more,  and  so  on. 

Arr.  H.  F. 

Heavy 


L-*— *- 


Ev  -    er   since   Un  -  cle  John  Hen  -  ry   been  dead 


All      of    the    worn  -  en  are 


a 


"-III 


qzi 


('on  8vi.  btitmo,  acrnpre 


£ 


^ 


^ 


=t 


•.—j — 1_^_ 

•d-v 


wear      -      in*    red. 


=P= 


Dis 


yere    ham  -  mer, 


nine-pound  ham-mer, 


E 


i 


Kill  mah  part-ner, 


kill  John  Hen-ry,  Kill 


him         dead. 


^ 


-Z5T 

H 


jgTT^S 

I jgG ; 


£ 


Ever  since  Uncle  John  Henry  been  dead 
All  of  the  women  are  wearin  red. 
Dis  yere  hammer,  nine-pound  hammer. 
Kill  mah  partner,  kill  John  Henry, 
Kill  him  dead. 

376 


GO  'WAY  FOM  MAH  WINDOW 


This  negro  woodchopper's  song  came  up  from  Arkansas  and  the  Ozarks  to  Tubman  K.  Hedrick, 
author  of  "The  Orientations  of  Hohen,"  when  he  was  a  newspaperman  in  Memphis,  Tennessee. 
.  .  ,  Phrases  of  it  time  with  ax-strokes.  "Go  'way"  sinks  the  ax,  "f'om  my  window"  sinks  it 
again,  and  so  on. 

Arr.  L.  S. 

Moderately  flow 


^ 


3^ 


3 


m 


1.  Go  'way         f'om  mah  win-dow,       Go  'way         f'om  mah  doh,  Go 

2.  Go  Vay  in    de  spring-time,  Come  back  in    de     fall,         Bring  you 


SEE 


-* — r—*z 


Si 


way 


f'om  mah  bed  -  side,         Don'  you  tease  me 


no 


mo 


m 


i 


m 


f=^ 


i 


back 


mo     mon  -  ey 


Dan  we      bofe 


± 


< 


can      haul. 


m 


=F 


J   I*      J 


1  Go  Vay  f'om  mah  window, 
Go  'way  f'om  mah  doh, 
Go  'way  f'om  mah  bedside, 
Don'  you  tease  me  no  mo*. 


377 


Go  Vay  in  de  springtime, 
Come  back  in  de  fall, 
Bring  you  back  mo*  money 
Dan  we  bofe  can  haul. 


MY  LULU 


Cowboys,  loggers,  pick  and  shovel  stiffs,  leathernecks,  scissorbills,  bootleggers,  beer  runners, 
hijackers,  traveling  men,  plasterers,  paperhangers,  bogheads,  tallowpots,  snakes  and  stingers,  and 
many  men  who  carry  gadgets  and  put  on  gaskets,  have  different  kinds  of  verses  about  Lulu.  Since 
the  Chicago  fire,  the  St.  Louis  cyclone  and  the  Chatsworth  wreck,  she  is  the  most  sung  about  female 
character  in  American  singing.  We  present  nine  of  the  nine  hundred  verses. 


-fr-n     ?"            N 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

—  m  P*  N  N  fe  I  •  

$3=F— 

|  «  „  ^_,           jJS-l 

_f  J— 

^~. 

r-*--   -*•    -*••  •      w1'-! 

-*-  ^tr__ 

i 


My        Lu  -  lu    hugged  and  kissed  me,       She  wrung  my  hand    and    cried, 


She 


» 


P 


m 


& 


2=j~j.  j 


EE£ 


=? 


said        I      was          the    sweet  -  est      thing     That       ev     -    er       lived       or        died. 


zF~*i  —  r""^ 

J9),       '.,.  ,..  .«,,-  
t/                 -^ 

feU     -^ 

p 

—P  m  
U  j  

= 

f^F~* 

•»                             ' 

fMI 
^ 

1  My  Lulu  hugged  and  kissed  me, 

She  wrung  my  hand  and  cried, 
She  said  I  was  the  sweetest  thing 
That  ever  lived  or  died. 

2  My  Lulu's  tall  and  slender, 

My  Lulu  gal's  tall  and  slim; 
But  the  only  thing  that  satisfies  her 
Is  a  good  big  drink  of  gin. 


S  If  you  go  monkey  with  my  Lulu  gal 

I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
I'll  carve  your  heart  out  with  my  razor, 
I'll  shoot  you  with  my  pistol,  too. 

4  My  Lulu  gal's  a  daisy, 

She  wears  a  big  white  hat; 
I  bet  your  life  when  I'm  in  town 
The  dudes  all  hit  the  flat. 


S78 


MY  LULU 


5  I  ain't  goin*  to  work  on  the  railroad, 

I  ain't  goin'  to  lie  in  jail, 
But  I'm  goin'  down  to  Cheyenne  town 
To  live  with  my  Lulu  gal. 

6  My  Lulu,  she's  an  angel, 

Only  she  aint  got  no  wings. 
I  guess  I'll  get  her  a  wedding  ring, 

When  the  grass  gets  green  next  spring. 


7  My  Lulu,  she's  a  dandy, 

She  stands  and  drinks  like  a  man, 
She  calls  for  gin  and  brandy, 
And  she  doesn't  give  a  damn. 

8  Engineer  hlowed  the  whistle, 

Fireman  rang  the  bell, 
Lulu,  in  a  pink  kimona 
Says,  "  Baby,  oh  fare  thee  well." 


9  I  seen  my  Lulu  in  the  springtime, 

I  seen  her  in  the  fall; 
She  wrote  me  a  letter  in  the  winter  time, 
Says,  "Good-by,  honey,"  that's  all. 


THE  WIND  IT  BLEW  UP  THE  RAILROAD  TRACK 

This  is  for  cold  weather,  around  the  stove  in  the  switch  shanty. 


h(fKE  H  —  N  N  |s  —  -jf  —  ^  • 

i  —  s  j  —  *  — 

=<£  J..  j    r-jr 

--j—  jt 

L^K  —  "  *   '••••I  9  
The  wind  it     blew     up      tl 

^ft_  hj          ^           ^           1  "*           j              J  -           ^ 

ie    rail  -  road  track, 

It      blew,              it      ble> 

v,           The 

-«p  ^  •*  J  J  -*  

wind  it     blew    up      the      ra 

iil  -  road  track,    It 

ftp            &         A 

blew,  ...          it     blew;  , 

.  .      The 

wind    it      blew     up         the 

r—Q  —  f)  1  to  1%  h  1  

rail    -    road  track, 

H 

It    blew       way       up 

jjjjlj  ^  j  j 

4*     imr-r            4^     - 

and 

>y    J  «T  j    J    i*    "?~*~~ 

—  r-.  A  A  — 

J    t  fc.      h.      I 

S  JJ 

r     .  T  •     ^ 

;  ^   t  n  .    h    ^  .:,  J  ^ 

,M      >         M         II 

hah*    way  back,  And  the  wind      it       blew,     Ho   -   ly    Jim-i-ny!  how      it    blew! 

The  wind  it  blew  up  the  railroad  track, 

It  blew,  it  blew, 
The  wind  it  blew  up  the  railroad  track, 

It  blew,  it  blew; 

The  wind  it  blew  up  the  railroad  track, 
It  blew  way  up  and  half  way  back, 

And  the  wind  it  blew, 

Holy  Jiminy!  how  it  blew! 

879 


HOG-EYE 


A  lusty  and  lustful  song  developed  by  negroes  of  South  Carolina,  who  had  it  from  sailors 
originally,  is  Hog-Eye.  In  themes  it  is  primitive,  anatomical,  fierce  of  breath,  aboriginal  rather 
than  original.  One  lone  verse,  passing  any  censor,  is  presented,  with  a  tune  notated  by  Julia 

Peterkin. 

Air.  A.  G.  W. 

Rubab)  -^  * 


1 


u= 


Hog -eye  gal    am     a    deb-bil    of    a    gal.       What     de  deb  -  bil     ail       'em?     'E 


'h/Tf '  Z~  _....." " 

yiltIriL_-jZL:-  :L_L~.: 


,„/ 


ipi 


-^ 


drinked      a     pint        ob     but  -  ter  -    milk        An   swear,      by    gosh,       it    killed      'em! 


U  • 


m 


j ,.    j       j       ^ 


Ro  -  ly  -  bo  -  ly   sho  -  ly,      hog  -eye!  ....        Ro  -  ly  -  bo  -  ly   sho  -  ly       hog  -  eye! 


i 


i 


Hog-eye  gal  am  a  debbil  of  a  gal. 
What  de  debbil  ail 'em? 
'E  drinked  a  pint  ob'  butter-milk 
An  swear,  by  gosh,  it  killed  'em! 
Ro-ly-bo-ly  sho-ly  hog-eye! 
Ro-ly-bo-ly  sho-ly  hog-eye! 

880 


MY  SISTER  SHE  WORKS  IN  A  LAUNDRY 

This  is  a  bitter  ditty  of  low  life,  a  rhyme  of  things  beyond  statistics,  epitomized  autobiography 
wondering  what  it  is  laughing  at. 

Arr.  H.  F. 


t¥r 

_p  -P  J  =  T  -f- 

s  —  j  —  1 

My 

|  —  m  *  *  f.  «L        M  —  1 
sis    -    ter       she      works      in         a 

i  r    r    r    r    r  —  f=\ 

1  !  ^^TTJ 

laun  -  dry,                                       My 

_»  —  -f  —  •      .    :•  —  ?  — 

(S5P 

rj     j     J     j=  3=3=1 

1  —  «  4  d  m  ^  

TTT  J    J    J   r  —  J     J1  —i  — 

r  ,H-..,.  ,,.V>              ^  ^    ,-„  K 

—  Ji.  J5l  Js  ^=afc*^  -N-  J 

ffrvn^        «        «        r         *        • 

^                           1 

LUJ              "           ~           "          Lj                                        J 

,J 

fa  -  ther  he    fid  -  dies    for      gin, 

My    mo  -  ther  she      takes          in 

—  *  —  ^  —  ^  —  E  ?  p  ?  ^  ^  ?  — 

srH  —  i=  i  1  

•J  ~  I^ 

-i        1          —  1~     .-.~~:  --: 

^TOJU  j  J  1  ,       ..               . 

j    ,„_,     ^     i 

—  JE!^  J  P  ^  .  _ 

ft    t  I    I 

3L_«L-  ==^ y 


£ 


5^^ 


wash  -  ing, 


^^^ 


My         God,        how  the    mon    -    ey    rolls       in. 


£ 


My  sister  she  works  in  a  laundry, 
My  father  he  fiddles  for  gin, 
My  mother  she  takes  in  washing, 
My  God,  how  the  money  rolls  in. 
381 


I  FOUND  A  HORSESHOE 


Railroad  switchmen  at  Illinois  and  Iowa  division  points  sang  this  on  nights  in  the  1890's  when 
their  gloves  froze  to  the  coupling  pins  between  coal  cars,  and  it  was  fun  to  reach  a  shanty  stove. 
.  .  .  Paperhangers,  icewugon  drivers,  hash  slingers  and  short  order  cooks  have  joined  up  and 
sung  it  on  summer  evenings  for  g<x>d  people  gathered  under  the  Chinese  lanterns  of  a  lawn  sociable, 
with  ice  cream  served  by  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society.  .  .  .  Henry  Joslyn  sets  it  here  as  a  four-part 

piece  for  quartets. 

Arr:  H.  J. 

TKISTOKH     Very  faxt 

t^R^-*^^-i£fc1:"l:EE 


TKNOKH     Very  f<i*t  __  ,  .^          _ 

i  'f 


s  c1  s 


1    [  found    a   horse-shoe, 
HAHHKH     (Ant) 


I  found    a    horse  -  shoe.  I  picked   it   up    and 


...r 

_e ;  \  \ 


I  found    it  horse-shoe,      I          found    a    horse-shoe.    I  picked    it    up    and 


nailed  it  on  the  door;        And  it  was  rust-y          and  full  of  nail  holes,  Good  luck 'twill  bring  to 


.A. 


nailed  it  ou  the  door;       And  it  was   rust-y     and      full  of  nail  holes,  Good  luck 'twill  bring  to 


-g-V      g?U       P 


UUlx 


you  for  -  ev  -  er  -  more.  ... 


The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York, 


i 


you  for  -  ev  -  er  -  more.  .  .  .    The     man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York,    New 


P^rFFTE 


"T~?:  \  F 


The  man  who  owned  the  horse  lie  lived  in  New  York. 


The  man  who  owned  the 


r 


A 

r 


^=^ 


~r~ 

York,  The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York,  New  York,  The  man  who  owned  the 

882 


I  FOUND  A  HORSESHOE 


i 


-H 4_^_ 


horse,         The  man  who  owned  the  horse,       The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York. 


r     i 

horse,  The    man  who  owned  the  horse.The    man  who  owned  th'e  horse  he  lived  in  New  York. 


1  I  found  a  horseshoe,  I  found  a  horseshoe. 
I  picked  it  up  and  nailed  it  on  the  door; 
And  it  was  rusty  and  full  of  nail  holes, 
Good  luck  'twill  bring  to  you  forevermore. 

2  The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York, 
The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York, 

The  man  who  owned  the  horse, 
The  man  who  owned  the  horse, 
The  man  who  owned  the  horse  he  lived  in  New  York. 

3  The  horse  that  wore  the  shoe  his  name  was  Mike, 
The  horse  that  wore  the  shoe  his  name  was  Mike, 

The  horse  that  wore  the  shoe, 
The  horse  that  wore  the  shoe, 
The  horse  that  wore  the  shoe  his  name  was  Mike. 


883 


RAILROAD  BILL 


Whereas  John  Henry  was  strong  at  driving  steel  and  was  a  kindly  family  man,  Railroad  Bill  is 
fierce  and  deep  in  sin  and  cussedness,  "a  mighty  bad  man."  He  carries  mean  hardware,  steals  the 
wives  of  rnen,  and  is  a  man-killer  with  the  police  after  him.  .  .  .  There  was  an  actual  Railroad 
Bill  who  shot  to  kill  and  was  feared  and  hunted.  Southern  negro  work  gangs  have  fixed  him  in  a 
ballad  of  hundreds  of  lines.  .  .  .  The  verses  couple  onto  each  other  like  fast  mail  coaches.  Singers 
hesitate  nowhere  and  stride  through  this  with  the  clip  of  a  non-stop  train. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


3/w/mito 


Rail -road        Bill, 


Rail  -  road         Bill, 


He    nev    -   er    work     and     he 


m 


1  Railroad  Bill,  Railroad  Bill, 
He  never  work  and  he  never  will; 
Well,  it's  bad  Railroad  Bill. 

*  Railroad  Bill,  Railroad  Bill, 

Took  ev* thing  that  the  farmer  had; 
That  bad  Railroad  Bill. 

8  Railroad  Bill  had  no  wife, 

Always  looking  for  somebody's  wife; 
Then  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 


4  Kill  me  a  chicken,  send  me  the  wing, 

They  think  I'm  working  but  I  ain't  done  a  thing ; 
Then  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 

5  Railroad  Bill,  mighty  bad  man, 

Shoot  the  lantern  out  the  brake  man's  han', 
Bad  Railroad  Bill. 

6  Railroad  Bill,  desp'rate  an'  bad, 
Take  ev'thing  po*  women's  had; 
Then  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 

884 


RAILROAD  BILL 


7  Railroad  Bill,  coming  home  soon, 

Killed  MacMillan  by  the  light  o*  the  moon; 
Then  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 

8  MacMillan  had  a  special  train, 
When  he  got  there  it  was  spring, 
Well,  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 


9  Two  policemen,  dressed  in  blue, 
Come  down  the  street  in  two  and  two; 
Well,  it's  looking  for  Railroad  Bill 

10  Ev'body  tol'  him  he  better  turn  back. 
Bill  was  a-going  down  the  railroad  track; 
Well,  it's  ride,  ride,  ride. 


HANGMAN 

As  they  sang  in  that  Santa  Fe  smoker  in  Texas,  I  did  not  ask  them  why  they  joked  about 
being  in  jail  in  Oklahoma  nor  why  they  enlisted  in  the  regular  army.  They  wore  bib  overalls,  their 
hands  were  acquainted  with  shovels,  and  they  told  Lengthy,  a  Tennessee  boy,  to  sing  this  or  they 
would  knock  his  block  off. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Moderate  .  „ 


* fr 


Hang-man,       hang-man,        slack  up  on  your  rope.          Sweet -heart,    sweet-heart, 


Lugubrf 


ftp- 


S^^t 

SI11*— =9 


poro  forte 


can  you  give  rne  any  hope?  You've  broke  a  heart  a-many  a  timc;Butyou'U  never  break  this  heart  of  mine. 


I  Hangman,  hangman,  slack  up  on  your  rope.  2  Hangman,  hangman,  slack  up  on  your  rope. 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart,  can  you  give  me  any  hope?      Sister,  sister,  can  they  give  me  any  hope? 
You've  broke  a  heart  a-many  a  time; 
But  you'll  never  break  this  heart  of  mine. 

385 


She  broke  a  heart  a-many  a  time; 
She'll  never  break  this  heart  of  mine. 


TIMBER 


An  old  negro  on  an  Indiana  farm  near  Porter  had  sung  many  spirituals  and  was  asked,  "  Did 
you  ever  make  up  a  song  while  working  with  other  workers  on  a  job?"  He  said  that  near  Lynch- 
burg,  Virginia,  when  he  was  young  they  were  cutting  down  timbers  and  hauling  to  a  building 
under  construction,  and  they  made  a  hundred  verses  to  this  tune.  ...  In  his  notable  series  of 
articles  in  the  New  York  Times  on  "Folk  Songs  of  America/'  R.  W.  Gordon  says  of  work  chanteys, 
"The  solo  lines  arc  sung  by  one  man,  a  leader  or  'foresinger,'  and  the  crowd  joins  in  on  the  refrain. 
The  task  may  l>e  one  that  calls  for  a  series  of  heavy  pulls  on  a  rope  or  of  successive  heaves  when 
moving  a  heavy  piece  of  timber.  ...  A  song  often  used  on  the  docks  is  composed  out  of  fragments 
loosely  strung  together.  Tomorrow,  or  at  a  different  task,  it  will  be  sung  differently.  Local  allusions 
may  at  any  time  be  introduced,  but  the  tune  and  the  refrain  will  remain  the  same.  The  very 
looseness  of  form  in  these  work  chanteys  gives  the  leader  a  wonderful  opportunity  for  directing 
the  work  without  seeming  to  do  so.  If  he  is  clever  he  will  take  advantage  of  many  facts.  To  keep 
his  men  working  steadily  over  long  periods  without  feeling  fatigue,  he  will  choose  a  song  that  seems 
endlessly  monotonous  and  count  on  its  hypnotic  power.  Whenever  a  specially  heavy  heave  is 
needed  he  will  introduce  a  humorous  verso  or  one  that  will  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  the  men. 
Unconsciously,  they  will  shout  the  refrain  louder  and  at  the  same  time  pull  harder.  A  good  leader 
will  always  be  careful  to  choose  a  song  fitted  to  the  task,  one  that  has  just  the  proper  resting  period 
in  proportion  to  the  frequency  arid  the  strength  of  the  required  pulls.  He  will  pick  a  slow  rhythm 
for  continued  work,  a  quirk  one  for  a  sudden  burst  of  energy."  ...  In  the  following  work  chantey 
the  singers  took  turns  improvising  solo  lines,  the  group  joining  in  on  "Hallelujah,  I  don't  know." 


Chnntetl;  tempo  ad  lib. 


•ff: 


Moderate 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


=t  J  J  >  f. 


We  are  trying  to  carry  this  timber  to  the  build-ing.      Hal  -  le  -  lu  -  jah,  I  don't  know. 


1  We  are  trying  to  carry  this  timber  to  the  building. 
Hallelujah,  I  don't  know. 

2  We  will  make  doors  and  windows  in  that  building. 
Hallelujah,  I  don't  know. 

3  We  will  build  it  to  the  glory  of  the  Lord. 
Hallelujah,  I  don't  know. 

886 


LUMBERJACKS,  LOGGERS,  SHANTY-BOYS 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAGE 

JAMES  WHALAND Alfred  G.  Wathall  ....  389 

THE  SHANTY-MAN'S  LIFE Charles  Fancell  Edson  ,       .       .  890 

FLAT  RIVER  GIRL 3/anon  Lychenheim       .       .       .  39$ 

THE  JAM  ON  GERRY'S  ROCK 394 

DRIVING  SAW-LOGS  ON  THE  PLOVER Cliarhs  Farwcll  Ed  son  .       .       .  396 

MOHRISSEY    AND    THE    RUSSIAN    SAILOR 398 

MULE  SKINNER'S  SONG Henry  Fruncis  Parks     .        .        .  400 


887 


Science,  invention,  new  machinery,  the  I.  W.  W.,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  phonograph,  radio,  movies, 
and  welfare  organizations,  have  changed  logging  camp  conditions,  so  that  singing  and  singers  are 
not  what  they  used  to  be.  The  old-time  shanty  boy  in  Michigan,  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota,  is  gone. 
Franz  Rickaby  walked  across  the  old  lumber  region  from  Charlevoix,  Michigan,  to  Grand  Forks, 
North  Dakota,  one  summer,  carrying  a  violin  and  a  packsack,  stopping  where  night  found  him, 
playing  his  violin  and  asking  people,  "What  are  the  old  songs  you  sing  here?"  And  the  ballads  he 
picked  up  were  all  from  old  men.  The  pioneer  lumberjacks^cut  the  trees  that  made  the  frame 
houses  of  pioneer  prairie  farmers.  Rickaby  met  W.  N.  Allen  of  Wausau,  Wisconsin,  who  sang  of 
the  cut-down  pine  tree  made  into  sawlogs,  sent  on  a  river  to  a  mill,  and  of  how 

"Then  they'll  sell  you  to  some  farmer 
To  keep  his  wife  and  children  warmer. 
With  his  team  he'll  haul  you  home 
To  the  prairie  drear  and  lone. 
Into  a  prairie  houre  he'll  make  you, 
Where  the  prairie  winds  will  shake  you. 
There'll  be  little  rest  for  thee, 
O  ye  noble  Big  Pine  Tree. 
The  prairie  winds  will  sing  around  you. 
The  hail  and  sleet  and  snow  will  pound  you, 
Arid  shake  and  wear  and  bleach  your  bones, 
On  the  prairie  drear  and  lone." 

Still  other  conditions  have  changed.  In  Stewart  Edward  White's  "The  Blazed  Trail"  an  old 
timer  says,  "The  towns  of  Bay  City  and  Saginaw  alone  in  1878  supported  over  fourteen  hundred 
tough  characters.  Block  after  block  was  devoted  entirely  to  saloons.  In  a  radius  of  three  hundred 
feet  from  the  famous  old  Catacombs  could  be  numbered  forty  saloons  where  drinks  were  sold  by 
from  three  to  ten  *  pretty  waiter  girls.'  When  the  boys  struck  town,  the  proprietors  and  waitresses 
stood  in  their  doorways  to  welcome  them.  ...  If  Jack  resisted  temptation  and  walked  reso- 
lutely on,  one  of  the  girls  would  remark  audibly  to  another,  'He  ain't  no  lumberjack!  You  can 
see  that  easy  'miff.  He's  just  off  the  hay  trail'.  Ten  to  one  that  brought  him." 

Rickaby 's  "Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  Shanty-Boy"  has  in  it  the  big  woods  silence,  the  spray  of 
white  water,  the  roar  of  log  jams,  besides  many  things  brawny,  reeking  and  raucous  out  of  the  bunk- 
house.  He  understood  rough  men,  their  rough  work,  words,  weather.  He  was  the  first  to  put  the 
singing  lumberjack  into  an  adequate  document  and  book.  Of  the  logging  camp  fiddler  it  was 
remarked,  "He  gets  the  swing  of  the  tune  and  then  plays  it  to  suit  himself."  and  to  this  Rickaby  adds: 
"Getting  the  swing  of  the  melody  of  a  song,  and  then  bending  both  melody  and  words  into  satis- 
factory union,  is  fundamental  in  folk-song.  The  singing  of  a  ballad  is  a  free  and  unconfined  process. 
The  story  is  the  clear  unmortgaged  possession  of  the  personality  whose  lips  happen  to  be  forming 
it  at  the  time;  word  and  note  must  serve,  but  they  must  not  get  in  the  way.  Thus  it  is  that  a 
singer,  in  three  successive  renditions  of  the  same  line,  may  sing  it  no  twice  alike.  Not  only  may  the 
melody  vary  slightly,  but 'they*  may  become 'we,' 'though*  may  become  'although,'  'Willie*  may 
become  'William,'  or  even  another  person  entirely.  'Oh*  may  be  omitted,  or  supplied;  or  'it's* 
or  'then*  or  'now';  and  so  on  through  a  hundred  similar  or  greater  possibilities.  This  may  all 
sound  slovenly  and  unkempt  to  the  conscious  artist;  but  in  the  realm  of  popular  balladry,  until 
one  does  it,  the  ballad  is  not  truly  his." 

388 


JAMES  WHALAND 


Slow,  ponderous,  inevitable,  this  proceeds  like  a  witness  whose  testimony  is  unshakable.  He 
saw  what  he  tells,  knows  how  it  happened,  and  is  sure  it  is  the  truth.  .  .  .  Edwin  Ford  Piper  of 
the  University  of  Iowa,  heard  this  in  the  1890's  from  farmhands  who  had  been  up  in  a  Minnesota 
logging  camp. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Modernto  con  tnoto.    Lugubre 


J 


Come    all    you  brave  young  shan  -  ty  -  boys,     I    pray  you    all    draw    near, 


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of        a    fright  -  fill    ac    -   ci  -  dent,          That     I  would  have    you 


hear. 


1  Come  all  you  brave  young  shanty-boys, 
I  pray  you  all  draw  near, 

Tis  of  a  frightful  accident 
That  I  would  have  you  hear. 

2  Tis  of  a  young  and  comely  youth, 
James  Wtialand  he  was  called, 

Got  drownded  from  Le  Claron's  raft, 
All  on  the  upper  falls. 

8  The  water  being  in  its  raging  course, 
The  river  rolling  high, 
When  the  foreman  to  young  Whaland  said, 
"The  jam  you'll  have  to  try." 


4  As  they  were  rolling  off  the  logs, 
Young  Whaland  made  a  shout: 

44  To  shore,  to  shore,  mv  shanty  -boys, 
The  jam  is  going  out! 

5  Those  mighty  logs  went  end  on  end, 
With  fearful  crashing  sound, 

And  when  the  shanty -boys  looked  back, 
Young  Whaland  had  gone  down. 

6  The  foaming  waters  tore  and  tossed 
The  logs  from  shore  to  shore, 

And  here  and  there  his  body  lies, 
A-tumbling  o'er  and  o'er. 


589 


THE  SHANTY-MAN'S  LIFE 


Franz  Rickaby  heard  from  an  old  shanty-boy,  A.  C.  Hannah  at  Bimidji,  Minnesota,  the  same 
tune  that  John  Lomax  met  in  Texas.  The  cowpuncher  of  the  southwestern  plains  and  the  lumber- 
jack of  the  north  woods  strung  on  the  same  old  Irish  melody  verses  telling  of  similar  troubles  and 
like  gaiety.  Though  they  have  "a  wearisome  life"  it  is  "void  of  all  slavish  fear/' 

Arr.  C.F.E. 


Oh,    a  shanty-man's  life  is     a  wearisome  life,  although  some  think  it 


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Lying  in  the  shanty  bleak  and  cold  while  the  cold  stormy  wintry  winds  blow, 
And  as  soon  as  the  daylight  doth  appear,  to  the  wild  woods  we  must  go. 

2  Oh,  the  cook  rises  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  saying,  "Hurrah,  brave  boys,  it's  day." 
Broken  slumbers  ofttimes  are  passed  as  the  cold  winter  night  whiles  away. 

Had  we  rum,  wine  or  beer  our  spirits  for  to  cheer  as  the  days  so  lonely  do  dwine, 
Or  a  glass  of  arty  shone  while  in  the  woods  alone  for  to  cheer  up  our  troubled  minds. 

3  But  when  spring  it  docs  set  in,  double  hardships  then  begin,  when  the  waters  are  piercing  cold, 
Arid  our  clothes  are  dripping  wet  and  fingers  benumbed,  and  our  pike-poles  we  scarcely  ran  hold. 
Betwixt  rocks,  shoals  and  sands  give  employment  to  all  hands  our  well-banded  raft  for  to  steer, 
And  the  rapids  that  we  run,  oh,  they  seem  to  us  but  fun,  for  we're  void  of  all  slavish  feur. 

4  Oh,  a  shanty  lad  is  the  only  lad  I  love,  and  I  never  will  deny  the  same. 

My  heart  doth  scorn  these  conceited  farmer  boys  who  think  it  a  disgraceful  name. 

They  may  boast  about  their  farms,  but  my  shanty -boy  has  charms  so  far,  far  surpassing  them  all, 

Until  death  it  doth  us  part  he  shall  enjoy  my  heart,  let  his  riches  be  great  or  small. 


891 


FLAT  RIVER  GIRL 


A  member  of  the  Great  Lakes  Seamen's  Union  sang  this  for  me  at  the  Union  headquarters  in 
Milwaukee,  Wisconsin,  when  I  was  marine  editor  of  a  newspaper.  Later  I  found  the  same  tune 
going  to  a  prison  song,  Cousin  Nellie,  and  to  part  of  the  cowboy  song,  When  The  Work's  All  Done 
This  Fall.  .  .  .  Rickaby  gives  four  texts  and  tunes  to  this  piece,  one  old  timer  saying  the  Flat 
River  flows  through  Greenville,  Michigan,  and  "Jack  Haggerty  was  a  lumberjack  and  from  a  man 
who  used  to  run  a  livery  stable  and  rent  him  horses  I  learned  that  he  was  not  quite  so  rough  as  most 
of  those  birds,  and  was  a  little  more  dressy." 

Air.  M.  L. 


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FLAT  RIVER  GIRL 


think     of          Jack         Hag-ger-ty 


and     his     Flat      Riv  -    er       girl. 


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1  Come  all  you  fine  young  fellow  with  hearts  so  warm  and  true, 
Never  believe  in  a  woman;  you're  lost  if  you  do. 

But  if  you  ever  see  one  with  long  brown  chestnut  curls, 
Just  think  of  Jack  Haggerty  and  his  Flat  River  girl. 

2  Her  form  was  like  the  dove,  so  slender  and  so  neat, 
Her  long  brown  chestnut  curls  hung  to  her  tiny  feet, 
Her  voice  it  was  like  music  or  murmurs  of  the  breeze 

As  she  whispered  that  she  loved  me  as  we  strolled  among  the  trees. 

3  She  was  a  blacksmith's  daughter  from  the  Flat  River  side, 
And  I  always  had  intended  for  to  make  her  my  bride; 
But  one  day  on  the  river  a  letter  I  received : 

She  said  that  from  her  promise  herself  she  had  relieved. 

4  To  her  mother,  Jane  Tucker,  I  lay  all  the  blame. 
She  caused  her  to  leave  me  and  to  blacken  my  name. 
I  counted  her  my  darling,  what  a  lady  for  a  wife! 
When  I  think  of  her  treachery  it  nearly  takes  my  life. 

5  Come  all  you  fine  young  fellows  with  hearts  so  warm  and  true. 
Never  believe  in  a  woman;  you're  lost  if  you  do. 

But  if  you  ever  see  one  with  long  brown  chestnut  curls, 
Just  think  of  Jack  Haggerty  and  his  Flat  River  girl. 


893 


THE  JAM  ON  GERRY'S  ROCK 

On  a  melodious  winter  evening  in  Salem,  Oregon,  Charles  Olaf  Olsen,  logger  and  poet,  was 
nsked  to  tell  a  lie  that  had  few  words  and  much  imagination.  He  said,  "Once  there  was  a  logger 
who  had  a  trunk."  .  .  .  Then  James  Stevens,  logger  and  author,  sang  "The  Jam  on  Gerry's 
Rook,"  sonorously,  rockingly,  beating  time  with  a  sure,  unfailing  foot  that  slammed  the  floor  with 
accurate  measures.  ...  It  is  a  heavy,  brooding  ballad,  portentous  as  a  log  boom  on  an  ice 
locked  river.  .  ,  .  Rickaby,  in  an  extended  note,  says  it  was  born  in  Canada  or  Michigan,  with 
the  odds  of  witnesses  in  favor  of  Michigan.  He  observes,  "Old  fellows  told  me  anyone  starting 
(Jerry's  Rock  in  the  shanties  was  summarily  shut  off  because  the  song  was  sung  to  death;  others 
vow  that  of  all  songs  it  was  ever  and  always  the  most  welcome."  .  .  .  "Deacon  seat"  was 
si  unity  lingo  for  a  seat,  or  board,  extending  from  the  lower  tier  of  bunks  and  running  square  or 
oblong  around  the  biinkhouse;  it  wufl  where  they  sat  between  suppertirne  and  bedtime  and  smoked, 
talked,  sang,  and  told  Paul  Bunyari  stories. 


Come  all  ye  true-born  shan-ty-boys,      wher  -  ev  -  er  you  may  be,      Come  sit  ye  on  the 


dea-con  seat          and   lis  -  ten   mi   -   to       me.         I'll  sing  the  jam  on  Ger-ry's  Rock  and  a 


he   -  ro    you  should  know,   The  bravest  of  all  shan-ty-boys,  the  foreman.  Young  Mun-ro. 


1  Come  all  ye  true-born  shanty-boys,  wherever  you  may  be, 
Come  sit  ye  on  the  deacon  seat  and  listen  unto  me. 

Fll  sing  the  jam  on  Gerry's  Rock  and  a  hero  you  should  know, 
The  bravest  of  all  shanty -boys,  the  foreman,  Young  Munro. 

2  'Twas  on  a  Sunday  morning,  ere  daylight  did  appear. 

The  logs  were  piling  mountain-high:  we  could  riot  keep  them  clear. 

"Cheer  up!   Cheer  up,  my  rivermen,  relieve  your  hearts  of  woe! 

We'll  break  the  jam  on  Gerry's  Rock!"  cried  our  foreman,  Young  Munro. 


3  Now  some  of  them  were  willing,  while  others  hid  from  sight. 
To  break  a  jam  on  Sunday  they  did  not  think  it  right. 
Till  six  of  our  brave  shanty-boys  did  volunteer  to  go 
And  break  the  jam  on  Gerryla  Rock  with  our  foreman,  Young  Munro. 

394 


THE  JAM  ON  GERRY'S  ROCK 

4  They  had  not  picked  off  many  logs  till  Munro  to  them  did  say, 

"I  must  send  you  back  up  the  drive,  my  boys,  for  the  jam  will  soon  give  way!'' 

Alone  he  freed  the  key-log  then,  and  when  the  jam  did  go 

It  carried  away  on  the  boiling-flood  our  foreman,  Young  Munro. 

5  Now  when  the  boys  up  at  the  camp  the  news  they  came  to  hear, 
In  search  of  his  dead  body  down  the  river  they  did  steer; 

And  there  they  found  to  their  surprise,  their  sorrow,  grief  and  woe, 
All  bruised  and  mangled  on  the  beach,  lay  the  corpse  of  Young  Munro. 

6  They  picked  him  up  most  tenderly,  smoothed  clown  his  raven  hair. 
There  was  one  among  the  watchers  whose  cries  did  rend  the  air. 
The  fairest  lass  of  Saginaw  let  tears  of  anguish  flow; 

But  her  moans  and  cries  could  not  awake  her  true  love,  Young  Munro. 

7  The  Missus  Clark,  a  widow,  lived  by  the  riverside; 
This  was  her  only  daughter,  Munro's  intended  bride. 

So  the  wages  of  her  perished  love  the  boss  to  her  did  pay 

And  a  gift  of  gold  was  sent  to  her  by  the  shanty-boys  next  day. 

8  When  she  received  the  money  she  thanked  them  tearfully, 
But  it  was  not  her  portion  long  on  the  earth  to  be; 

For  it  was  just  six  weeks  or  so  when  she  was  called  to  go 

And  the  shanty-boys  laid  her  at  rest  by  the  side  of  Young  Munro. 

9  They  decked  the  graves  most  decently — 'twas  on  the  fourth  of  May — 
Come  all  ye  true-born  shanty -boys  and  for  a  comrade  pray! 
Engraven  on  a  hemlock  tree  which  by  the  beach  did  grow, 

Are  the  name  and  date  of  the  mournful  fate  of  the  foreman,  Young  Munro. 


395 


DRIVING  SAW-LOGS  ON  THE  PLOVER 


Winter  was  the  big  time  for  work  in  the  logging  camps.  The  logs  cut  during  winter  were  floated 
to  the  saw  mills  as  the  frozen  rivers  loosened  up  for  the  "drive"  in  the  spring.  Boys  needed  on  the 
farms  in  summer  and  fall  took  a  turn  at  logging  in  the  winter.  So  there  was  plenty  of  argument 
on  whether  a  farm  hand  or  a  shanty  -boy  had  the  better  of  it,  in  pay  and  cash  or  in  favor  with  the 
girls.  .  .  .  In  M.  C.  Dean's  collection  The  Flying  Cloud  is  an  old  song  I  Love  My  Sailor  Boy, 
with  a  mother's  advice  and  a  daughter's  scorn  in  two  verses: 

"Then  wed  a  steady  farmer's  son  that  whistles  at  the  plow, 
And  then  you  will  have  time  enough  to  tend  both  sheep  and  cows. 
But  your  sailor  he'll  carouse  and  drink  whenever  he  comes  on  shore, 
And  when  his  money  is  spent  and  gone,  he'll  sail  the  seas  for  more." 

"A  fig  for  all  your  farmer's  sons!    Such  lovers  I  disdain. 

There  is  not  one  among  them  dare  face  the  raging  main. 

And  when  the  winds  are  howling  and  the  billows  are  white  as  snow, 

I'll  venture  rny  life  with  the  lad  that  dare  go  where  stormy  winds  do  blow." 

The  text  and  tune  here  were  notated  by  Franz  Rickaby  from  W.  N.  Allen  of  Wausau,  Wisconsin. 
Allen  composed  the  verses  in  1873,  using  the  tune  of  an  old  song  about  a  mother's  words  to  her  son 
as  he  went  away  to  the  Crimean  War. 

Arr.  C.  F.  E. 


It 


feE 


There  walked  on  Plover's  shad-y  banks  One  eve-ning  last  Ju  -  ly,          A 


P 


^ 


^-nrr^nr 


moth -cr  of    a  shan-ty-boy,  And  dole-ful  was  her  cry,    Saying,  "God  be  with  you,  Johnnie,  Al- 

h 


^ 


j  ,  j  i  i-^-f-i- 

H-H^pF 


896 


DRIVING  SAW-LOGS  ON  THE  PLOVER 


m 


* 


though  you're  far  a  -  way    Driving  saw-logs  on  the  Plo-ver,  Andyou'U  never  get  your  pay. 


m 


1 — i- 


1  There  walked  on  Plover's  shady  banks 
One  evening  last  July, 

A  mother  of  a  shanty-boy, 
And  doleful  was  her  cry, 
Saying,  "God  be  with  you,  Johnnie, 
Although  you're  far  away 
Driving  saw-logs  on  the  Plover, 
And  you'll  never  get  your  pay. 

2  "O  Johnnie,  I  gave  you  schooling, 
I  gave  you  a  trade  likewise; 

You  need  not  been  a  shanty-boy 
Had  you  taken  my  advice. 
You  need  not  gone  from  your  dear  home 
To  the  forest  far  away, 
Diving  saw-logs  on  the  Plover? 
"  And  you'll  never  get  your  pay. 

3  "O  Johnnie,  you  were  your  father's  hope, 
Your  mother's  only  joy. 

Why  is  it  that  you  ramble  so, 
My  own,  my  darling  boy? 
What  could  induce  you,  Johnnie, 
From  your  own  dear  home  to  stray, 
Driving  saw-logs  on  the  Plover? 
And  you'll  never  get  your  pay. 


4  "Why  didn't  you  stay  upon  the  farm, 
And  feed  the  ducks  and  hens, 

And  drive  the  pigs  and  sheep  each  night 

And  put  them  in  their  jyens? 

Far  better  for  you  to  help  your  dad 

To  cut  his  corn  and  hny 

Than  to  drive  saw-logs  on  the  Plover, 

And  you'll  never  get  your  pay." 

5  A  log  canoe  came  floating 
Adown  the  quiet  stream. 
As  j>eacefully  it  glided 

As  sonic  young  lover's  dream. 

A  youth  crept  out  upon  the  bank 

And  thus  to  her  did  say, 

"Dear  mother,  I  have  jumped  the  game, 

And  I  haven't  got  my  pay. 

6  "The  boys  called  me  a  sucker 
And  a  son-of-«-gun  to  boot. 

I  said  to  myself,  *()  Johnnie, 
It  is  time  for  you  to  scoot.' 
I  stole  a  canoe  and  started 
Upon  my  weary  way, 
And  now  I  have  got  home  again, 
But  nary  a  cent  of  pay. 


7  "Now  all  young  men  take  this  advice: 
If  e'er  you  wish  to  roam, 
Be  sure  and  kiss  your  mothers 
Before  you  leave  your  home. 
You  had  better  work  upon  a  farm 
For  half  a  dollar  a  day 
Than  to  drive  saw-logs  on  the  Plover, 
And  you'll  never  get  your  pay/' 

397 


MORRISSEY  AND  THE  RUSSIAN  SAILOR 


A  biography  titled  "  Life  of  John  Morrissey,  the  Irish  Boy  Who  Fought  His  Way  to  Fame  and 
Fortune'*  tells  about  a  prize  fighter,  gambler,  i>olitician  who  became  state  senator  and  Member 
of  Congress.  His  big  fights  were  in  the  1850's  and  he  defeated  Thompson,  the  Yankee  Clipper,  the 
Benieia  boy,  in  the  squared  circle,  as  related  in  this  song.  He  was  a  "  Paddy  "  and  a  ring  hero,  too, 
OS  related.  But  sporting  authorities  consulted  on  the  point  fail  to  find  that  he  ever  planted  his 
knuckles  in  a  Russian  sailor  Vi  face  nor  fought  any  such  thirty -eight-round  contest  as  here  described. 
Yet  the  song  delivers  the  atmosphere  of  the  old-time  bare-fisted  ring  fight.  ...  It  is  presented 
here  as  sung  by  M.  C.  Dean,  of  Virginia,  Minnesota,  author  of  "The  Flying  Cloud,"  a  collection  of 
lumberjack  and  Great  Lakes  songs  and  American  ballads.  On  the  currency  of  this  and  similar 
balkds  Franz  Rickaby  wrote  this  eloquent  and  informative  note:  "In  the  logging  camp  the  hegem- 
ony in  song  belonged  to  the  Irish.  Although  the  Scotch  and  French-Canadian  occur  occasionally, 
the  Irish  were  dominant,  and  the  Irish  street-song  was  the  pattern  upon  which  a  liberal  portion  of 
the  shanty-songs  were  made.  Irishmen  sailed  the  seas  of  the  world.  In  the  armies  of  England 
they  fought  against  Russia  and  died  on  the  fields  of  Indian  insurrection.  In  Canada  and  the 
United  States,  whither  they  migrated  in  hordes,  they  fought  wherever  there  was  fighting.  And  in 
this  New  World  those  of  them  who  were  thrifty  and  provident  laid  foundations  of  homes;  and  those 
who  were  not,  didn't.  But  whatever  they  did,  they  made  and  sang  songs;  and  wherever  they  went 
roving,  they  took  them  along.  Thus  it  was  that  the  shanties  rang  with  songs  of  ships  and  piracy, 
of  American  battle  charges,  and  of  prize-fights  in  far-lying  ports  of  the  world;  of  charging  the  heights 
of  Alma,  of  dying  in  India  for  Britannia  and  Britannia's  Queen,  and  of  sailing  the  lakes  with  red 
iron  ore — of  all  these,  as  well  as  of  harvesting  the  mighty  pine." 


j 


*— — ^— *^^ 

Come  all  you  sons  of      E    -    rin,    at  -  ten  -  tion  now    I     crave,     \Vhile  I      re  -  late  the 


^*ae?=S^=7 


3 


prais  -  es   of      an    I  -  rish     he  -  ro  brave,      Con-cern  -  ing   a      great  fight,  me  boys,  all 


on     the  oth  -  er    day,         Be-tween  a    Rus-sian  sail  -  or        and  bold  Jack  Mor-ris-sey. 


1  Come  all  you  sons  of  Erin,  attention  now  I  crave, 
While  I  relate  the  praises  of  an  Irish  hero  brave, 
Concerning  a  great  fight,  me  boys,  all  on  the  other  day, 
Between  a  Russian  sailor  and  bold  Jack  Morrissey. 

2  It  was  in  Terra  del  Fuego,  in  South  America, 

The  Russian  challenged  Morrissey  and  unto  him  did  say 
"I  hear  you  are  a  fighting  man,  and  wear  a  belt  I  see. 
\Vhat  do  you  say,  will  you  consent  to  have  a  round  with  me?" 

398 


MORRISSEY  AND  THE  RUSSIAN  SAILOR 

3  Then  up  spoke  bold  Jack  Morrissey,  with  a  heart  so  stout  and  true, 
Saying,  "I  am  a  gallant  Irishman  that  never  was  subdued. 

Oh,  I  can  whale  a  Yankee,  a  Saxon  bull  or  bear, 

And  in  honor  of  old  Paddy's  land  I'll  still  those  laurels  wear. 

4  These  words  enraged  the  Russian  upon  that  foreign  land, 
To  think  that  he  would  be  put  down  by  any  Irishman. 

He  says,  "You  are  too  light  for  me.    On  that  make  no  mistake, 
I  would  have  you  to  resign  the  belt,  or  else  your  life  I'll  take." 

5  To  fight  upon  the  tenth  of  June  these  heroes  did  agree, 
And  thousands  came  from  every  part  the  battle  for  to  see. 
The  English  and  the  Russians,  their  hearts  were  filled  with  glee; 
They  swore  the  Russian  sailor  boy  would  kill  bold  Morrisscy. 

6  They  both  stripped  off,  stepped  in  the  ring,  most  glorious  to  be  seen, 
And  Morrisscy  put  on  the  belt  bound  round  with  shamrocks  green. 
Full  twenty  thousand  dollars,  as  you  may  plainly  see, 

That  was  to  be  the  champion's  prize  that  gained  the  victory. 

7  They  both  shook  hands,  walked  round  the  ring,  commencing  then  to  fight. 
It  filled  each  Irish  heart  with  joy  for  to  behold  the  sight. 

The  Russian  he  floored  Morrisscy  up  to  the  eleventh  round, 
With  English,  Russian,  and  Saxon  cheers  the  valley  did  resound. 

8  A  minute  and  a  half  our  hero  lay  before  ho  could  rise. 

The  word  went  all  around  the  field:   "He's  dead,"  were  all  their  cries. 
But  Morrissey  raised  manfully,  and  raising  from  the  ground, 
From  that  until  the  twentieth  the  Russian  he  put  down. 

9  Up  to  the  thirty -seventh  round  'twas  fall  and  fall  about, 
Which  made  the  burly  sailor  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout. 

The  Russian  called  his  second  and  asked  for  a  glass  of  wine. 
Our  Irish  hero  smiled  and  said,  "The  battle  will  be  mine." 

10  The  thirty-eighth  decided  all.    The  Russian  felt  the  smart 
When  Morrissey,  with  a  fearful  blow,  he  struck  him  o'er  the  heart. 
A  doctor  he  was  called  on  to  open  up  a  vein. 

He  said  it  was  quite  useless,  he  would  never  fight  again. 

11  Our  hero  conquered  Thompson,  the  Yankee  Clipper  too; 
The  Benicia  boy  and  Shepherd  he  nobly  did  subdue. 

So  let  us  fill  a  flowing  bowl  and  drink  a  health  galore 
To  brave  Jack  Morrissey  and  Paddies  evermore. 

309 


MULE  SKINNER'S  SONG 


"When  the  rosy  fingers  of  dawn  came  stealing  on  soft  feet  along  the  eastern  horizon,  and  it 
was  time  to  get  up  and  go  to  work,  we  sometimes  heard  a  negro  mule  skinner  singing  of  himself, 
of  George  Me  Vane,  and  of  three  mules,  two  with  names  and  one  anonymous."  Thus  James  Stevens, 
author  of  "Brawnyman"  and  other  books,  tells  how  in  a  Puget  Sound  logging  camp  he  heard  the 
musical  fragment  given  here.  .  .  .  Stevens  tells  how  he  often  met  Mr.  Puget,  the  contractor  who 
hired  Paul  Bunyan  to  bring  Babe  the  Blue  Ox  and  dig  out  Puget  Sound.  Mr.  Puget  told  Stevens 
how  rain  was  interfering  with  Paul  and  Babe  on  the  excavating  work,  and  one  day  when  a  water- 
spout came  traveling  up  as  far  as  the  Sound  had  been  dug  then,  Paul  dived  deep,  swum  till  he  was 
under  the  waterspout,  and  then  climbed  with  powerful  overhand  strokes  till  he  reached  the  top. 
When  Paul  came  down  the  waterspout  was  gone.  "What  did  you  do?"  asked  Mr.  Puget,  Paul 
answering,  "I  turned  it  off."  .  .  .  Though  there  are  many  stories  there  seem  to  be  no  songs  of  or 
by  Paul  Bunyan.  .  .  .  There  is,  however,  one  of  and  by  a  black  mule  skinner. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


O  ah  drove  three  mules  foh  Gawge  Me-  Vane,       An*  ah  drove  them  three  mules  on  a  chain. 


E*E 


g£=ij 


Nigh  one  Jude,  .  .  .   an' de  middle  one  Jane,  An' de  one  on  de  stick  shedid-n't  have     no  name. 


idzzzfc 


0  ah  drove  three  mules  foh  Gawge  Me  Vane, 
An'  ah  drove  them  three  mules  on  a  chain. 
Nigh  one  Jude,  an'  de  middle  one  Jane, 
An*  de  one  on  de  stick  she  didn't  have  no  name. 

400 


SAILOR  MAN 


HARMONIZATION  BY  PAQH 

WHISKY  JOHNNY Hazel  Felman         ....  403 

BLOW  THE  MAN  DOWN MolUe  Nemkovsky          .        .        .  404 

THE  DEAD  HORSE Marion  Lychenheim       .       .       .  406 

HEAVE   AWAY 407 

THE   WIDE  MIZZOURA 408 

I  CATCH-A  DA  PLENTY  OF  FEESH Henry  Francis  Parks     .        .        .  409 

THE  HOG-EYE  MAN Edward  Collins       .       .       .        .410 

LEAVE   HER,  BULLIES,  LEAVE   HER 412 

ACROSS   THE   WESTERN    OCEAN 41$ 


401 


WHISKY  JOHNNY 


Once  when  the  night  was  wild  without  and  the  wintry  winds  piled  snowdrifts  around  the  traffic 
signals  on  Cottage  Grove  Avenue,  Chicago,  we  sat  with  Robert  Frost  and  Padraic  Colum.  The 
Gael  had  favored  with  Irish  ballads  of  murder,  robbery,  passion.  And  Frost  offered  a  sailorman  song 
he  learned  as  a  boy  on  the  wharves  of  San  Francisco. 


Arr.  II.  F. 


da 


-3—*- 


As   we   sailed  on  the  wa  -  ter    blue, 


Whis-ky 


John-ny! 


teb  r    r= 

X^ft     \f        be 


* 


3 


S 


*s£ 


i 


^ 


good  long  pull    and   a   strong  one   too,     Whis-ky         for   my          John  •  ny! 


i 


1  As  we  sailed  on  the  water  blue, 
Whisky  Johnny, 

A  good  long  pull  and  a  strong  one  too, 
Whisky  for  my  Johnny. 


S  Whisky  made  mo  pawn  my  clothes, 
Whisky  Johnny, 
Whisky  gave  me  this  red  nose, 
Whisky  for  ray  Johnny. 


Whisky  killed  my  brother  Tom, 
Whisky  Johnny, 
I  drink  whisky  all  day  long, 
Whisky  for  my  Johnny. 


4  Whisky  stole  my  brains  away, 
Whisky  Johnny, 
The  bos'n  pipes  and  I'll  belay, 
Whisky  for  my  Johnny. 


403 


BLOW  THE  MAN  DOWN 

Robert  Frost  as  a  boy  in  San  Francisco  learned  shanties  from  listening  to  sailors  and  dock- wal- 
lopers along  the  water  front.  He  saved  these  tunes  and  verses  in  his  heart.  A  favorite  with  him  is 
Blow  The  Man  Down.  It  has  the  lurch  of  ships,  tough  sea  legs,  a  capacity  for  taking  punishment 

and  rising  defiant  of  oppression  and  tyranny. 

Arr.  M.  N. 


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BLOW  THE  MAN  DOWN 


3 


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black  man  or  brown,         Give  me  some  time       to    blow  the  man  down,       Give  me  some 

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time        to    blow       the  man  down, 


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Blow     the  man  down! 


bul  -  lies! 


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,LJ     >   I  f  '^^SBS 


1  As  I  was  a-walkin'  down  Paradise  Street 
To  me  aye,  aye  —  blow  the  man  down  ! 
A  saucy  young  p'liceman  I  chanced  for  to  meet; 
Blow  the  man  down  to  me  aye,  aye,  blow  the  man  down! 
Whether  he's  white  man  or  black  man  or  brown, 
Give  me  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down, 
Give  me  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down, 
Blow  the  man  down!  bullies! 

%  You're  off  from  some  clipper  that  flies  the  Black  Ball, 
To  me  aye,  aye  —  blow  the  man  down! 
You've  robbed  some  poor  Dutchman  of  coat,  boots,  and  all; 
Blow  the  man  down,  &c. 

3  P'liceman,  p'liceman,  you  do  me  much  wrong 
To  me  aye,  aye  —  blow  the  man  down! 

I'm  a  peace  party  sailor  just  home  from  Hong  Kong; 
Blow  the  man  down,  &c. 

4  They  gave  me  six  months  in  Ledington  jail 
To  me  aye,  aye  —  blow  the  man  down! 

For  kickin*  and  fightin*  and  knockin*  'em  down; 
Blow  the  man  down,  &c. 


405 


THE  DEAD  HORSE 


The  seamen  on  the  old  sailing  vessels  drew  a  month's  pay  before  sailing.  This  was,  as  the  folk 
proverbs  of  many  nations  have  it,  a  dead  horse  to  be  paid  for.  At  the  end  of  the  first  sailing  month, 
a  canvas  bag  shaped  like  a  horse  was  stuffed  with  straw,  hoisted  to  the  main  yardarm,  and  given  a 
sea  burial.  The  ceremonial  and  its  sung  and  spoken  lines  varied.  Those  below  were  given  me  in 
Philadelphia,  by  the  daughter  of  a  sailing  master.  Joanna  Colcord  designates  it  as  a  shanty  used 
for  halliards  and  capstan  on  American  ships. 

Arr.  M.  L. 


E* 


J 


3 


They  say,  old  man,  your  horse  will  die.  And  they  say      so    and  they  hope  so.      They 


F±=^===: 


-A 


f=P 


S^E 


S 


say,      old       man,   your     horse       will        die.       O,       poor          old 


horse! 


1  They  say,  old  man,  your  horse  will  die. 
And  they  say  so  and  they  hope  so. 
They  say,  old  man,  your  horse  will  die. 
O,  poor  old  horse! 


And  if  he  dies  they'll  tan  his  hide, 
And  they  say  so  and  they  hope  so. 
And  if  he  dies  they'll  tan  his  hide, 
O,  poor  old  horse! 


8  And  now  he's  gone  he's  buried  deep, 
And  they  say  so  and  they  hope  so. 
And  now  he's  gone  he's  buried  deep, 
0,  poor  old  horse! 

406 


HEAVE  AWAY 

The  name  of  Henry  Clay  rhymes  with  "heave  away."  What  more  was  wanted?  He  was 
the  idolized  "Handsome  Harry  of  the  West"  in  the  1840's.  This  is  among  the  few  known  work 
songs  of  the  slave  days  of  the  American  negro.  It  is  not  a  ditty  but  a  sonorous,  flexible  melody. 


Heave     a  -    way,       heave     a  -  way!          I'd     ra  -  ther  court    a    yel  -  low  gal    Than 


€E 


•J'    E  f      C'    E 


work  for    Hen  -    ry  Clay,      Heave     a  -    way,         heave     a  -  way! Yel  -  low 


^^-^^ 


gal, 


want       to     go.        I'd       rath  -    er    court     a       yel  -  low     gal    Than 


work  for    Hen  -  ry  Clay.  Heave     a  -  way!        Yel  -low    gal,          I       want       to    go! 

Heave  away,  heave  away ! 

I'd  rather  court  a  yellow  gal 

Than  work  for  Henry  Clay, 

Heave  away,  heave  away! 

Yellow  gal,  I  want  to  go. 

I'd  rather  court  a  yellow  gal 

Than  work  for  Henry  Clay. 

Heave  away!  Yellow  gal,  I  want  to  go! 


407 


THE  WIDE  MIZZOUKA 

Regular  army  men  were  singing  this  in  1897.  Many  years  earlier  sailonnen  were  singing  it  their 
way.  .  .  .  Shannadore,  I  am  told,  may  have  been  the  name  of  a  ship.  Or  it  may  be  the  old  time 
pronunciation  of  the  name  of  an  Indian  chief  or  the  historic  Virginia  valley.  When  I  asked  Joseph 
B.  Fifcr,  former  governor  of  Illinois  about  his  early  life,  he  said,  "I  was  born  in  the  Shannadore 
Valley.  "  That  was  in  the  early  1840's.  .  .  .  The  song  was  used  as  a  capstan  shanty,  Joanna  Colcord 
tells  us.  She  notates  it  with  varied  time  in  her  book  "Roll  and  Go,'*  and  comments,  "The  tune  is 
very  free  in  its  rhythms  and  cannot  be  written  in  one  tempo. "  How  that  comment  does  go  for  so 
many  good  songs! 


* 


=£ 


m 


^=? 


O  Shan-na-dore,     I    love  your  daugh-ter,     Hi  -  oh,    you  roll -ing   riv  -  er,      1*11  take  her 


3 


r-^h     j[y     T  j  I  ji 


'cross     the  roll-ing  wa  -  tcr,    Ah — hah,  I'm  bound  a -way    'cross  the  wide    Miz-zou-ra. 


O  Shannadore,  I  love  your  daughter, 
Ili-oh,  you  rolling  river, 
I'll  take  her  'cross  the  rolling  water, 
Ali-hah,  I'm  bound  away  'cross  the  wide  Miz- 
zoura. 

For  seven  years  I  courted  Sally, 
Ili-oh,  you  rolling  liver, 
For  seven  more  I  longed  to  have  her, 
Ah-hah,  I'm  bound  away  'cross  the  wide  Miz- 
zoura. 


3  She  said  she  would  not  be  my  lover, 
Hi-oh,  you  rolling  river, 

Because  I  was  a  dirty  sailor, 
Ah-hah,  I'm  bound  away  'cross  the  wide  Miz- 
zoura. 

4  A-drinkin'  nun  and  a-chewin*  t'baccer, 
Hi-oh,  you  rolling  river, 
A-drinkin'  rum  and  a-chewin'  t'baccer, 
Ah-hah,  I'm  bound  away  'cross  the  wide  Miz- 

zoiira. 


406 


I  CATCH-A  DA  PLENTY  OF  FEESH 


At  Fishermen's  Wharf  and  on  Telegraph  Hill  in  San  Francisco  they  sing  in  such  lingo  as  the  heart 
commands.  Harry  Dick,  Lillian  Bos,  and  other  occupants  of  crow  nests  on  the  topmost  crags  and 
crannies  of  Telegraph  Hill,  have  heard  this  air  and  verse  and  have  hunted  a  missing  stanza  about 
the  selling  of  the  fish. 

Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


c 


m 

r 


I    sail  o-ver  the  o  -  cean     blue, 


I   catch-a  da  plen-ty  of  feosh ;  The  rain  come  down  like 

h 


r — v 


£ 


b^ 


And  the  wind  blow  thro*  my  whcesk.      0  Mar  -  i  -  an,   my  good  corn-pan,     0 


£ 


=te^ 

t i~ff-  ff      f* j 1— J. 

^ic   *::*:   -*^* 


£=* 


S^-t 


f 


f       g. 


^ 


* 


it 


3F  Hf 


EEi 


I7i-ra  fe  Gar  -  i  -  bal    -    <fi7          Ft  -  i>a,      n   -   va,        vi-va  l'1-tal  -  i  -    an<?/ 


j    n 


^ 


*!* 


Jubilantly 


*=i 


rZL  J       ,     f 


=t= 


J: 


f 


5 


i 


35 


i 


-^ 

I  sail  over  the  ocean  blue, 

I  catch-a  da  plenty  of  feesh; 

The  rain  come  down  like  hell, 

And  the  wind  blow  through  my  wheesk. 

O  Marian,  my  good  com  pan, 

0  Viva  le  Garibaldi/ 

Viva,  viva9  viva  Vltalianel 

409 


THE  HOG-EYE  MAN 


A  "hog-eye"  was  sailor  slang  in  the  1850's  for  a  barge  that  cruised  around  Cape  Horn  to  San 
Francisco,  where  a  dirty,  tumultuous  little  Babylon  met  all  newcomers  and  offered  them  a  "good 
time."  Spenders  with  nuggets  of  gold  and  sacks  of  gold  dust  met  gamblers  and  women  from  no- 
where, not  telling  their  real  names.  It  was  a  lighted  town  that  beckoned  seamen  from  afar;  it  crept 
into  a  sea  song,  of  how  the  hog-«ye  men  were  all  the  go  when  they  came  down  to  old  San  Francisco. 
I  heard  the  cracked  voice  of  an  old  time  sailor  sing  it,  in  1922,  just  after  R.  W.  Gordon  had  him 
make  a  phonograph  cylinder  record.  The  singer  put  in  a  high  falsetto  chuckle  once  in  a  while  as  if 
the  song  meant  there  was  joy  to  corne  or  mischief  ahead  or  happiness  remembered. 

f  AIT.  E.  C. 

mf 


O,     the    hog  -  eye      men      are      all       the       go,    When  they  come  down      to       old 


f  CHORDS 

'=£=$EESE3^&^i&r=^ 

*        ^-       ^         ^~j  . 


-4 


San  Fran  -  cis  -  c-o.  And     a    hog  -eye, 


rail-  road    nig-  ger  with  his   hog  -  eye, 


//, 


^ 


Row    the  boat     a  -  shore,  and     a      hog  -  eye,      O,      She  wants    the    hog  -  eye    man. 


410 


THE  HOG-EYE  MAN 

1  O  the  hog-eye  men  are  all  the  go, 

When  they  come  down  to  old  San  Francisco. 

Chorus: 

And  a  hog-eye,  railroad  nigger  with  his  hog-eye, 
Row  the  boat  ashore,  and  a  hog-eye,  O, 
She  wants  the  hog-eye  man. 

2  O  the  hog-eye  man  is  the  man  for  me, 
He  works  all  day  on  the  big  levee. 

8  Now  who's  been  here  since  I  been  gone? 
A  railroad  nigger  with  his  sea-boots  on. 

4  Go  bring  me  down  my  riding  cane, 
For  Fin  going  to  see  my  darling  Jane. 

5  O  Sally  in  the  garden  picking  peas, 

II er  golden  hair  hanging  down  to  her  knees. 


411 


LEAVE  HER,  BULLIES,  LEAVE  HER 

Text  A  is  a  hauling  song  as  heard  in  the  port  of  San  Francisco.  An  earlier  version  (B),  called 
Across  the  Western  Ocean,  from  the  R.  W.  Gordon  collection,  dates  about  1850,  after  the  Irish 
potato  famine;  packet  ships  carried  thousands  from  Liverpool  across  to  where  there  was  "the  Irish 
army,"  the  many  immigrants  to  America.  "Amelia"  is  said  to  trace  to  the  Irish  name  O'Melia. 


SOLO 


ClIORUfl 


3^2 


Oh    the  times  are  hard  and  the  wa  -  ges        low,     Oh  leave  her,   bul  -  lies,  leave  her; 


SOLO 


CHORl/ft 


^=j-4^F7  i-Hj 


i 


* 


-^_^^E 

go,      It's  time    for    us        to    leave  her. 


I      guess   it's  time    for         us 


to 


1  Oh  the  times  are  hard  and  the  wages  low, 
Oh  leave  her,  bullies,  leave  her; 
I  guess  it's  time  for  us  to  go, 
It's  time  for  us  to  leave  her. 


Oh  don't  you  hear  our  old  man  say, 
Oh  leave  her,  bullies,  leave  her; 
To-morrow  you  will  get  your  pay, 
It's  time  for  us  to  leave  her. 


ACROSS  THE  WESTERN  OCEAN 


1  Oh,  the  times  are  hard  and  the  wages  low- 
Amelia,  whar  you  bound  to? 
The  Rocky  Mountains  is  my  home, 
Across  the  Western  Ocean. 


B 


3  To  Liverpool  I'll  take  my  way — 
Amelia,  whar  you  bound  to? 
To  Liverpool  that  Yankee  school, 
Across  the  Western  Ocean. 


The  Land  of  Promise  there  you'll  see — 
Amelia,  whar  you  bound  to? 
I'm  bound  across  the  western  sea, 
To  join  the  Irish  army. 


4  There's  Liverpool  Pat  with  his  tarpaulin  hat- 
Amelia,  whar  you  bound  to? 
And  Yankee  Jack  the  packet  rat, 
Across  the  Western  Ocean. 


5  Beware  these  packet  ships,  I  say — 
Amelia,  whar  you  bound  to? 
They  steal  your  hide  and  soul  away, 
Across  the  Western  Ocean. 


413 


BANDIT  BIOGRAPHIES 


HARMONIZATION  BT  PAG1 

JIM  FISK Alfred  Q.  Wathatt  ....  416 

JESSE  JAMES Marion  Lychenheim      ,       .       ,  420 

SAM  BASS Alfred  0.  Wathatt  ....  422 


418 


JIM  FISK 

Jim  Fisk  was  an  American  business  man  who  rose  from  Vermont  country  peddler  to  he  a  Civil 
War  government  supply  contractor,  a  cotton  speculator,  a  Wall  Street  broker,  owner  of  the  Nar- 
ragansett  Steamship  Lines,  owner  of  the  Grand  Opera  House  of  New  York,  Colonel  of  the  Ninth 
Regiment  of  the  New  York  National  Guard,  director  of  the  Erie  railroad — and  nicknamed  "  Prince 
Erie."  He  joined  Jay  Gould  and  others  in  a  conspiracy  to  corner  the  gold  of  the  United  States  in 
1869,  was  instrumental  in  bringing  on  the  financial  crash  of  Black  Friday,  bought  and  sold  judges, 
courts,  decisions  and  writs  of  injunction,  was  a  participant  in  the  corruption  of  Tweed  and  Tam- 
many. He  drove  a  coach  and  eight  horses  around  New  York  soliciting  supplies  for  the  Chicago  fire 
sufferers,  sent  a  carload  of  provisions  and  clothes  to  the  stricken  city,  dispensed  charity  and  won  a 
large  following  of  people  who  believed  him  a  hero  of  proportions  and  heart. 

He  managed  all  things  for  worldly  success  till  he  met  Helen  Josephine  Mansfield.  He  bought 
her  a  house  with  the  winnings  of  one  night's  gambling,  gave  her  horses,  jewels,  opera  box  tickets, 
and  sent  her  funny,  pompous  love  letters.  She  was  his  plaything;  he  was  her  pockctbook.  She 
gave  his  letters  to  Edward  S.  Stokes  of  Philadelphia,  who  was  the  Other  Man  and  who  came  and 
lived  with  her  in  the  house  that  was  a  free  gift  and  token.  Newspaj>ers  published  an  affidavit  of  a 
negro  butler  of  this  house  telling  of  a  plot  of  Miss  Mansfield  and  Stokes  to  force  Fisk  to  pay  $$00,000 
to  get  his  letters  back,  his  chuckling,  pompous  love  letters. 

When  Miss  Mansfield  sued  for  lil>el,  Fisk's  lawyer  declared  at  the  trial,  "I  expect  to  show  that 
Mr.  Fisk  found  this  lady  without  a  dollar;  that  after  lavishing  upon  her  means  enough  to  have 
satisfied  Cleopatra  herself,  when  the  supply  ceased,  means  were  resorted  to  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
newing them.  Our  defense  is  that  this  prosecution  has  no  basis  in  good  faith,  nothing  but  an  attempt 
to  extort  money.  And  have  I  not  a  right  to  show,  if  such  be  the  fact,  that  finding  this  lady  without 
a  dollar,  and  having  enriched  her — although  like  most  riches  obtained  in  this  way,  it  is  rapidly 
disappearing — that  she  has  had  resort  to  this  means  to  replenish  her  treasury?  Cleopatra — aye, 
like  unto  her;  for  as  the  Egyptian  siren  queen  is  spoken  of  by  the  grandest  of  poets,  'age  cannot 
wither  her,  nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety/  " 

The  defense  won.  Stokes  with  a  gun  met  Fisk  in  the  Grand  Central  Hotel  one  afternoon  and  sent 
two  bullets  into  his  victim,  who  died  that  night.  Stokes  was  tried  and  given  a  life  sentence.  Melo- 
dramatic newspaj>er  and  pulpit  comment  followed.  Of  the  three,  actors  in  the  tragedy,  a  writer 
declared,  "One  goes,  how  unprepared!  to  his  long  home — -one  goes  to  the  solitary  gloom  of  a  murder- 
er's cell — one  to  a  life  of  deep,  dark,  ungovernable  remorse."  Henry  Ward  Iteecher  turned  loose 
an  invective  declaring: 

"And  that  supreme  mountebank  of  fortune — the  astounding  event  of  his  age:  that  a  man  with 
some  smartness  in  business,  but  absolutely  without  moral  sense,  and  as  absolutely  devoid  of  shame 
as  the  desert  of  Sahara  is  of  grass — that  this  man,  with  one  leap,  should  have  vaulted  to  the  very 
summit  of  power  in  New  York,  and  for  seven  to  ten  years  should  have  held  the  courts  in  his  hands, 
and  the  Legislature  and  the  most  consummate  invested  interest  of  the  land  in  his  hands,  and  laughed 
at  England  and  laughed  at  New  York,  and  matched  himself  against  the  financial  skill  of  the  whole 
city,  and  outwitted  the  whole,  and  rode  out  to  this  hour  in  glaring  and  magnificent  prosperity — 
shameless,  vicious,  criminal,  abominable  in  his  lusts,  and  flagrant  in  his  violation  of  public  decency 
— that  this  man  should  have  been  the  supremest  there;  and  yet  in  an  instant,  by  the  hand  of  a  fellow 
culprit,  God's  providence  struck  him  to  the  ground!  And  yet  I  say  to  every  young  man  who  has 
looked  upon  this  glaring  meteor,  and  seen  his  course  of  prosperity,  and  thought  that  perhaps  in- 
tegrity was  not  so  necessary,  *  Mark  the  end  of  the  wicked  man, '  and  turn  back  again  to  the  ways  of 
integrity. " 

415 


JIM  PISK 


And  there  came  a  song  registering  its  own  viewpoint,  using  the  memory  of  Jim  Fisk,  a  briber 
and  comiptionist  of  courts,  as  an  instance  in  which  to  lament  the  ancient  fact  that  the  poor  get  the 
worst  of  it  when  they  go  into  court  against  the  rich.  .  .  .  Text  and  tune  here  are  from  N.  D.  Cochran 
of  Toledo,  Ohio,  who  knows  much  more  than  most  men  do  about  corrupt  courts,  fixed  juries,  and 
crooked  judges.  The  song  i.s  melodramatic  and  lias  maudlin  lines.  Yet  it  has  been  widely  known 
and  sung  across  decades  in  which  Jim  Fisk,  his  woman,  his  assassin,  and  all  their  follies  were  for- 
gotten and  being  forgotten  were  forgiven.  It  has  lived  on  and  had  a  certain  folk  song  vitality  as  a 
cry  for  justice,  as  a  moan  over  money  and  cunning,  greed  and  hypocrisy,  so  often  winning  the 
authorities  and  the  decisions,  the  power  and  the  glory. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

mf  Tempo  di  9al»et  moderate 


tri-al     by   the  ju  -  ry,  you'll  see If  you've  plen-ty  of  stamps  you  can  hold  up  your 


410 


JIM  FISK 


head,    And  walk  from  your  own  pris  -  on  door, But  they'll  hang  you  up 


rit. 


high,  if  you* ve  no  friends  or  gold,  Let  the  rich  go,  but  hang  up  the  poor. 


REFRAIN 


::j^ 
<Ki=^P 


In     the    tri  -  als     for    mur  -  der     we    have    now  -  a  -  days,     The    rich    ones    get 


•     J     4^=^^> 
J-    *    -J- ' -J-    -i    -J 


i 


4 


417 


off     swift  and    sure;. 


If   you've  thou  -  sands  to      pay 

(unpoco  | 


to    the 


t=E 


(lunga) 


zff 
" 


n'/ard 


m 


ju  -    ry    and  judge,  You  may  bet  they'll  go  back    on      the  poor. 


1  If  you'll  listen  a  while,  I'll  sing  you  a  song 
Of  this  glorious  land  of  the  free; 

And  the  difference  I'll  show  'twixt  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
In  a  trial  by  the  jury,  you'll  see. 
If  you've  plenty  of  stamps,  you  can  hold  up  your  head 
And  walk  from  your  own  prison  door, 
But  they'll  hang  you  up  high,  if  you've  no  friends  or  gold, 
Let  the  rich  go,  but  hang  up  the  poor. 

Refrain: — In  the  trials  for  murder  we  have  nowadays, 
The  rich  ones  get  off  swift  and  sure; 
If  you've  thousands  to  pay  to  the  jury  and  judge, 
You  may  bet  they'll  go  back  on  the  poor. 

418 


JIM  F1SK 

£  Til  sing  of  a  man  who's  now  dead  in  his  grave, 
A  good  man  as  ever  was  born ; 
Jim  Fisk  he  was  called  and  his  money  he  gave 
To  the  outcast,  the  poor,  and  forlorn. 
We  all  know  he  loved  both  women  and  wine, 
But  his  heart  it  was  right,  I  am  sure; 
Though  he  lived  like  a  prince  in  his  palace  so  fine, 
Yet  he  never  went  back  on  the  poor. 

Refrain: — If  a  man  was  in  trouble,  Fisk  helped  him  along, 
To  drive  the  grim  wolf  from  the  door; 
lie  strove  to  do  right,  though  he  may  have  done  wrong, 
But  he  never  went  back  on  the  poor. 

3  Jim  Fisk  was  a  man  wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve, 
No  matter  what  people  might  say; 

And  he  did  all  his  deeds,  both  the  good  and  the  bad, 

In  the  broad  open  light  of  the  day. 

With  his  grand  six-in-hand,  on  the  beach  at  Long  Branch, 

He  cut  a  big  dash  to  be  sure; 

But  Chicago's  great  fire  showed  the  world  that  Jim  Fisk, 

With  his  wealth,  still  remembered  the  poor. 

Refrain: — When  the  telegram  came  that  the  homeless  that  night 
Were  starving  to  death  slow  but  sure, 
His  lightning  express  manned  by  noble  Jim  Fisk 
Flew  to  feed  all  the  hungry  and  poor. 

4  Now  what  do  you  think  of  the  trial  of  Stokes, 
Who  murdered  this  friend  of  the  poor? 
When  such  men  get  free,  is  there  anyone  safe 
To  step  outside  their  own  door? 

Is  there  one  law  for  the  poor  and  one  for  the  rich? 
It  seems  so,  at  least  so  I  say; 
If  they  hang  up  the  poor,  why  surely  the  rich 
Ought  to  swing  up  the  very  same  way. 

Refrain: — Don't  show  any  favor  to  friend  or  to  foe; 
The  beggar  or  prince  at  your  door. 
The  big  millionaire  you  must  hang  up,  also, 
But  never  go  back  on  the  poor. 


419 


JESSE  JAMES 


There  is  only  one  American  bandit  who  is  classical,  who  is  to  this  country  what  Robin  Hood  or 
Dick  Turpin  is  to  England,  whose  exploits  are  so  close  to  the  mythical  and  apocryphal  that  to  get 
a  true  picture  of  him  we  must  read  a  stern  inquiry  such  as  Robertus  Love's  book,  "The  Rise  and 
Fall  of  Jesse  James."  For  the  uninformed  it  should  be  stated  that  Jesse  was  living  in  St.  Joseph, 
Missouri,  under  the  name  of  Howard,  when,  unarmed,  he  was  shot  in  the  back  of  the  head,  and 
killed,  by  his  supposed  young  friend,  Robert  Ford. 


Arr.  M.  L. 


It  was  on  a  Wednesday  night,  the  moon  was  shining  bright,  They  robbed  the  Glendale  train,  And  the 


T 


s± 


peo-ple  they  did  say,  for  man-y  miles  a- way,  Twos  the  out-laws  Frank  and  Jes-se  James. 


m 


REFRAIN 


j^s-^g 


4 4 


£E£ 


-^-t- 


Jes-se  had  a  wife     to  mourn  all  her  life,       The  chil  -  dren  they  are  brave.      Twas  a 


420 


JESSE  JAMES 


J 


dirt  -  y  lit  -  tie  cow-ard        shot  Mis-ter  How-ard,  And  laid  Jes-se  James  in  his  grave. 


1  It  was  on  a  Wednesday  night,  the  moon  was  shining  bright, 

They  robbed  the  Glendale  train. 
And  the  people  they  did  say,  for  many  miles  away, 
'Twas  the  outlaws  Frank  and  Jesse  James. 


Refrain  —  Jesse  had  a  wife  to  mourn  all  her  life, 

The  children  they  are  brave. 
'Twas  a  dirty  little  coward  shot  Mister  Howard, 
And  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave. 

2  It  was  Rolx?rt  Ford,  the  dirty  little  coward, 

I  wonder  how  he  docs  feel, 

For  he  ate  of  Jesse's  bread  and  he  slept  in  Jesse's  bed, 
Then  he  laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave.—  Refrain 

8  It  was  his  brother  Frank  that  robtxnl  the  Gallatin  bank, 

And  carried  the  money  from  the  town. 
It  was  in  this  very  place  that  they  had  a  little  race, 
For  they  shot  Captain  Sheets  to  the  ground.  —  Refrain 

4  They  went  to  the  crossing  not  very  far  from  there, 

And  there  they  did  the  same; 

And  the  agent  on  his  knees  he  delivered  up  the  keys 
To  the  outlaws  Frank  and  Jesse  James.  —  Refrain 

5  It  was  on  a  Saturday  night,  Jesse  was  at  home 

Talking  to  his  family  brave, 

When  the  thief  and  the  coward,  little  Robert  Ford, 
Laid  Jesse  James  in  his  grave.  —  Refrain 

6  How  people  held  their  breath  when  they  heard  of  Jesse's  death, 

And  wondered  how  he  ever  came  to  die. 
Twas  one  of  the  gang,  dirty  Robert  Ford, 
That  shot  Jesse  James  on  the'sly.  —  Refrain 

7  Jesse  went  to  his  rest  with  his  hand  on  his  breast. 

The  devil  will  be  upon  his  knee. 
He  was  born  one  day  in  the  county  of  Clay, 
And  came  from  a  solitary  race.  —  Refrain 

421 


SAM  BASS 


"If  a  man  knows  any  secrets  he  should  die  and  go  to  hell  with  them  in  him,"  said  Sam  Bass 
as  he  lay  bleeding  from  bullet  wounds,  and  Texas  Rangers  and  officers  of  the  law  asked  him  who 
were  his  partners.  He  and  three  of  his  boys,  all  handy  with  their  six-shooters,  on  July  20,  1878, 
were  in  Round  Rock,  Texas,  loafing  sort  of  careless  in  a  cigar  store  next  to  a  bank  they  had  their 
eye  on  to  rob.  Officers  of  the  law,  who  had  been  tipped  off  by  the  squealer  Murphy,  spoke  to  Sam 
and  his  boys  asking  who  they  were,  where  they  came  from,  how  they  made  their  living,  and  other 
questions  often  asked  of  strangers  by  men  wearing  stars  and  badges.  Shooting  began.  One  officer 
dropped  dead.  So  did  Seaborn  Barnes,  " right  bower  to  Sam  Bass."  Sam  got  away,  was  found  in 
woods  near  by  next  day,  and  died  of  his  wounds  on  the  day  after  that;  it  was  his  27th  birthday 
anniversary.  In  the  woods,  knowing  he  couldn't  live,  he  gave  Frank  Jackson  his  horse  and  told 
him  to  make  a  get-away,  though  Jackson  begged  to  stay  and  fight.  Like  other  bandits  of  legend 
and  fame  Sam  Bass  was  good  to  the  poor.  "He  would  give  a  poor  woman  a  twenty -dollar  gold 
piece  for  a  dinner  and  take  no  change,"  wrote  W.  P.  Webb  in  No.  8  of  the  Texas  Folk  Lore  Society 
publications.  "He  paid  farmers  well  for  the  horses  he  took  from  them,  though  sometimes  he  did 
not  have  time  to  see  the  farmer.  .  .  .  Sam  Bass  relics  are  scattered  over  the  country,  everywhere. 
His  belt  with  some  cartridges  in  it  is  in  the  library  of  the  University  of  Texas.  A  carpenter  at 
Snyder  has  a  horseshoe  from  Bass's  l>est  race  horse  nailed  to  the  top  of  his  tool  chest.  Near  Belton 
are  some  live  oak  trees  that  Bass  is  said  to  have  shot  his  initials  in  while  riding  at  full  speed.  Horns 
of  steers  supposed  to  have  l>een  killed  by  Bass  sell  over  the  country  at  fancy  prices.  In  Montague 
County,  there  is  a  legend  of  $30,000  of  loot  buried  by  Sam  Bass.  Again,  he  is  supposed  to  have  left 
treasure  in  the  Llano  country.  At  McNeill,  near  Austin,  there  is  a  cave  in  which  Sam  Bass  hid 
when  he  was  in  retirement.  There  he  kept  his  horses  and  from  there  made  his  forays".  .  .  .  Legend 
wrote  an  epitaph  on  his  monument  which  is  not  there:  Would  That  He  Were  Good  as  He  was  Brave. 
Near  Sam's  pretentious  monument,  mutilated  by  souvenir  collectors,  is  a  rough  sandstone  memorial 
to  Seaborn  Barnes,  with  the  inscription:  He  Was  Right  Bower  to  Sam  Bass.  Of  this,  Webb,  a 
Texan,  commented,  "It  is  written  in  language  Bass  would  have  loved;  it  has  a  certain  impertinence 
to  law  abiding  people  in  the  nearby  graves,  a  certain  pride  in  the  leader  at  whose  heels  Barnes  died. 
The  spirit  of  the  person  who  wrote  the  seven  words  of  that  epitaph  is  the  spirit  that  has  created  the 
legend  of  Sam  Bass  in  Texas. "  Ami,  of  course,  some  such  spirit  has  kept  the  biographic  Sam  Bass 
ballad  alive  and  going  these  many  years  since  he  met  his  doom  at  Round  Rock. 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


Sam  Bass  was  born  in  In-di-an  -  a, —         it    was  his  na  -  tive  home,     And  at  the  age    of 


423 


SAM  BASS 
9/1*4. 


a 


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sev  -  en  -teen  young  Sam  be  -  gan  to    roam.       Sam  first  came  out    to   Tex  -  as 


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1  Sam  Bass  was  born  in  Indiana,  it  was  his  native  home, 
And  at  the  age  of  seventeen  young  Sarn  began  to  roam. 
Sam  first  came  out  to  Texas  a  cowboy  for  to  l>e, 

A  kinder-hearted  fellow  you  seldom  ever  sec. 

2  Sam  used  to  deal  in  race  stock,  one  called  the  Dcnton  mare, 
He  matched  her  in  scrub  races,  and  took  her  to  the  fair. 
Sam  used  to  coin  the  money  and  spent  it  just  as  free, 

He  always  drank  good  whiskey  wherever  he  might  be. 

3  Sam  left  the  Collins  ranch  in  the  merry  month  of  May 
With  a  herd  of  Texas  cattle  the  Black  Hills  for  to  see, 
Sold  out  in  Custer  City  and  then  got  on  a  spree, 

A  harder  set  of  cowboys  you  seldom  ever  see. 

4  On  their  way  back  to  Texas  they  robbed  the  U.  P.  train, 
And  then  split  up  in  couples  and  started  out  again. 

Joe  Collins  and  his  partner  were  overtaken  soon, 

With  all  their  hard-earned  money  they  had  to  meet  their  doom. 


SAM  BASS 

5  Sam  made  it  back  to  Texas  all  right  side  up  with  care; 
Rode  into  the  town  of  Denton  with  all  his  friends  to  share. 
Sam's  life  was  short  in  Texas;  three  robberies  did  he  do, 
He  robbed  all  the  passenger,  mail,  and  express  cars  too. 

6  Sam  had  four  companions — four  bold  and  daring  lads — 
They  were  Richardson,  Jackson,  Joe  Collins,  and  Old  Dad; 
Four  more  bold  and  daring  cowboys  the  rangers  never  knew, 
They  whipped  the  Texas  rangers  and  ran  the  boys  in  blue. 

7  Sam  had  another  companion,  called  Arkansas  for  short, 
Was  shot  by  a  Texas  ranger  by  the  name  of  Thomas  Floyd; 
O,  Tom  is  a  big  six-footer  and  thinks  he's  mighty  fly, 

But  I  can  tell  you  his  racket, —  he's  a  deadbeat  on  the  sly. 

8  Jim  Murphy  was  arrested,  and  then  released  on  bail; 

He  jumped  his  bond  at  Tyler  and  then  took  the  train  for  Terrell; 
But  Mayor  Jones  had  posted  Jim  and  that  was  all  a  stall, 
'Twas  only  a  plan  to  capture  Sam  before  the  coming  of  fall. 

9  Sam  met  his  fate  at  Round  Rock,  July  the  twenty-first, 

They  pierced  poor  Sam  with  rifle,  balls  and  emptied  out  his  purse. 
Poor  Sarn  he  is  a  corpse  and  six  foot  under  clay, 
And  Jackson's  in  the  bushes  trying  to  get  away. 

10  Jim  had  borrowed  Sam's  good  gold  and  didn't  want  to  pay, 
The  only  shot  he  saw  was  to  give  poor  Sam  away. 

He  sold  out  Sam  and  Barnes  and  left  their  friends  to  mourn, — 
O  what  a  scorching  Jim  will  get  when  Gabriel  blows  his  horn. 

11  And  so  he  sold  out  Sam  and  Barnes  and  left  their  friends  to  mourn, 
0  what  a  scorching  Jim  will  get  when  Gabriel  blows  his  horn. 
Perhaps  he's  got  to  heaven,  there's  none  of  us  can  say, 

But  if  I'm  right  in  my  surmise  he's  gone  the  other  way. 


421 


FIVE  WARS 


HARMONIZATION  BY 


PAGE 


THE  HUNTERS  OF  KENTUCKY  OR  HALF  HORSE  AND  HALF 
ALLN 

JACKSON 

POOR  KIT 

THERE  W 

A  FILJPIN 

THE  SERG 

WRAP  ME  UP  IN  MY  TARPAULIN  JACKET  AND  THE  HAND- 
SOME YOUNG  AIRMAN 

A  WAR  BIRD'S   BURLESQUE 

HINKY  DINKY,  PARLEE-VOO 

WHERE   THEY  WERE 

THE  HEARSE   SONG 


MTOR          

.        .       .       Alfred  G.  Wathatt  .        . 
.       Alfred  G.  Waihatt  . 

.     4*7 
.     430 

Y  POPCORN      

.     431 

S   AN   OLD   SOLDIER 
>  HOMBRE          

Ruth  Crawford 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 

.     43S 
.     434 

OANT,  HE  IS  THE  WORST  OF  ALL 

,       .     435 

Alfred  G.  WathaU 
Alfred  G.  Watiiatt 


430 
488 
440 
442 
444 


425 


THE  HUNTERS  OF  KENTUCKY  or  HALF  HORSE 
AND  HALF  ALLIGATOR 


These  verses  done  in  the  style  of  polite  poetry  were  first  sung  to  the  air  of  Miss  Baily.  They 
were  written  by  Samuel  Wood  worth,  and  published  in  1820  by  James  M.  Campbell  in  a  book,  Mel- 
odies, Duets,  Trios,  Songs,  and  Ballads.  Under  the  title  of  Hunters  of  Kentucky,  or  Half  Horse  and 
Half  Alligator,  the  song  was  published  in  Boston  as  a  broadside.  In  singing,  the  pronunciation 
"Kaintucky"  seems  to  be  preferred  to  that  of  "Kentucky"  among  those  who  have  perpetuated  the 
song.  It  has  been  heard  among  the  mountaineers  and  cowboys;  Franz  Rickaby  found  it  among 
lumberjacks,  and  the  air  here  is  from  the  singing  of  George  M.  Hankins  of  Gordon,  Wisconsin,  as 
notated  by  Rickaby.  The  text  is  from  a  broadside  in  the  Congressional  Library,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


3 


Ye      gen  -  tie  -  men    and      la  -  dies  fair,  Who  grace   this    fa  -  mous    cit    -  y,        Just 


mf        leggiero 


2=3P 


£ 


(con  Sti.  ad  lib.) 


THE  HUNTERS  OF  KENTUCKY 


1    J 


•r  j 


lis  -  ten       if    you' ve  time     to    spare,  While     I        re -hearse     a      dit  -  ty;      And 


J  Ji;  J     J 


5 


for     the     op   -    por  -  tu  -  ni  -  ty          Con  -  ceive  your-selves  quite  luck  -  y,        For 


S 


'tis    not    of  -  ten    that  you    see     A    hunt-er  from  Ken-tuck  -  y.     Oh,  Ken-tuck -y,     the 

I 


83=5=3=^ 


J    J 


hunt  -  era     of    Ken-tuck  -  y !       Oh,  Ken-tuck  -  y,     the  hunt  -  era     of      Ken-tuck  -  y ! 


428 


THE  HUNTERS  OF  KENTUCKY 


1  Ye  gentlemen  and  ladies  fair, 

Who  grace  this  famous  city, 
Just  listen  if  you've  time  to  spare, 

While  I  rehearse  a  ditty; 
And  for  the  opportunity 

Conceive  yourselves  quite  lucky, 
For  'tis  not  often  that  you  see 

A  hunter  from  Kentucky. 
Oh  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky! 
Oh  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky! 

2  We  are  a  hardy,  free-born  race, 

Each  man  to  fear  a  stranger; 
Whatever  the  game  we  join  in  chase, 

Despoiling  time  and  danger, 
And  if  a  daring  foe  annoys, 

Whatever  his  strength  and  forces, 
We'll  show  him  that  Kentucky  boys 

Are  alligator  horses. 

Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 

8  I  s'pose  youVe  read  it  hi  the  prints, 

How  Packenham  attempted 
To  make  old  Hickory  Jackson  wince, 

But  soon  his  scheme  repented; 
For  we,  with  rifles  ready  cock'd, 
Thought  such  occasion  lucky, 
And  soon  around  the  gen'ral  flock'd 
The  hunters  of  Kentucky. 

Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 

4  You've  heard,  I  s'pose  how  New-Orleans 

Is  fam'd  for  wealth  and  beauty, 
There's  girls  of  ev'ry  hue  it  seems, 

From  snowy  white  to  sooty. 
So  Packenham  he  made  bis  brags, 

If  he  in  fight  was  lucky, 
He'd  have  their  girls  and  cotton  bags, 
In  spite  of  old  Kentucky. 

Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 


6  But  Jackson  he  was  wide  awake, 

Aqd  was  not  scar'd  at  trifles, 
For  well  he  knew  what  aim  we  take 

With  our  Kentucky  rifles. 
So  he  led  us  down  to  Cypress  swamp, 

The  ground  was  low  and  mucky, 
There  stood  John  Bull  in  martial  pomp 

And  here  was  old  Kentucky. 
Oh  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky  !  - 
Oh  Kentucky,  the  hunters  of  Kentucky  ! 

6  A  bank  was  rais'd  to  hide  our  breasts, 

Not  that  we  thought  of  dying, 
But  that  we  always  like  to  rest, 

Unless  the  game  is  flying. 
Behind  it  stood  our  little  force. 

None  wished  it  to  be  greater, 
For  evVy  man  was  half  a  horse, 

And  half  an  alligator. 

Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 

7  They  did  not  let  our  patience  tire, 

Before  they  show'd  their  faces; 
We  did  not  choose  to  waste  our  fire, 

So  snugly  kept  our  places. 
But  when  so  near  we  saw  them  wink, 

We  thought  it  time  to  stop  'em, 
And  'twould  have  done  you  gocxl  I  think, 

To  see  Kentuckians  drop  'em. 
Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 

8  They  found,  at  last,  'twas  vain  to  fight, 

Where  lead  was  all  the  booty, 
And  so  they  wisely  took  to  flight, 

And  left  us  all  our  beauty. 
And  now,  if  danger  e'er  annoys, 

Remember  what  our  trade  is, 
Just  send  for  us  Kentucky  boys, 

And  we'll  protect  ye,  ladies. 

Oh  Kentucky,  &c. 


429 


JACKSON 

On  his  walking  trip  from  the  Great  Lakes  to  the  Great  Plains  Franz  Bickaby  met  this  survivor 

of  the  years  of  the  War  with  Mexico. 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 

Hb=a 


Jack  -  son    is      on     sea, —          Jack  -  son  is      on    shore, —  Jack-son's  gone  to 


^ 


3 


r-rr1 


Mex  -  i  -  co       to    fight  the  hat  -  ties      o'er. —       "  Wel-come  home,  my  Jack  -  son,    oh, 


i 


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y. 


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^ 


wel-come  home,  "  said  she,  —  Lust  night  my  claught-er  Ma-  ry     lay  dream  -ing    of      thee.  — 


1  Jackson  is  on  sea,  Jackson  is  on  shore, 
Jackson's  gone  to  Mexico  to  fight  the  battles  o'er. 
"Welcome  home,  my  Jackson,  oh  welcome  home,"  said  she, 
Last  night  my  daughter  Mary  lay  dreaming  of  thee. 


JACKSON 


2  "  What  news,  Jackson  ?  "   "  Very  poor, "  says  he. 
"I  lost  all  my  money  while  crossing  the  sea. 

Go  bring  your  daughter  Mary  and  get  her  down  by  me, 
We'll  drown  our  melancholy  and  married  we  will  be. " 

3  "Oh  Mary's  not  at  home,  Jack,  nor  has  not  been  to-day; 
And  if  she  was  at  home,  Jack,  she  would  not  let  you  stay. 
For  Mary's  very,  very  rich  and  you  are  very  poor, 

And  if  she  was  at  home,  Jack,  she'd  show  you  the  door. " 

4  Jackson  bein'  drowsy  hung  down  his  head, 
He  called  for  a  candle  to  light  him  off  to  bed. 

The  l>eds  are  full  of  strangers,  and  have  been  so  this  week—- 
And now  for  your  lodging,  poor  Jack,  you'll  have  to  seek. 

5  Jack  looked  upon  the  strangers,  upon  them  one  and  all, 
He  looked  upon  the  landlady  and  in  reckoning  he  did  call. 
Twenty  shillings  of  the  new  and  twenty  of  the  old. 
Writh  this  Jack  pulled  out  his  two  hands  full  of  gold. 

6  The  sight  of  the  money  made  the  old  woman  rue: 
"Mary  is  at  home,  Jack,  and  shell  return  to  you. 
I  hope  you're  not  in  earnest,  for  I  only  spoke  in  jest. 
Without  any  exception  she  loves  you  the  best. " 

7  Mary  came  downstairs  with  a  smiling  face, 
First  a  sweet  kiss,  then  a  fond  embrace: 

"Oh,  welcome  home,  my  Jackson,  oh  welcome  home,  my  dear. 
The  big  beds  are  empty  and  you  shall  lie  there. " 

8  "Before  I'd  lie  within  your  beds  I'd  lie  within  the  street, 
For  when  I  had  no  money,  my  lodging  I  must  seek. 
But  now  I've  plenty  money  I'll  make  the  tavern  hurl, 

A  bottle  of  good  brandy  and  on  each  arm  a  girl. " 


POOR  KITTY  POPCORN 

44  A  tragic  little  ballad  of  the  Civil  War  which  we  children  cried  over  many  times.  I  recall  it 
only  in  fragments,  the  story  of  a  cat  that  joined  a  regiment  of  soldiers  marching  south.  She  perished 
in  the  snow  on  the  grave  of  the  one  to  whom  she  had  become  most  attached. "  Thus  the  history  of 
this  verse  from  Neeta  Marquis  who  as  a  girl  grew  up  in  Tennessee. 

Poor  Kitty  Popcorn,  buried  in  a  snow  drift  now! 
Never  more  we'll  hear  the  music  of  her  gladsome  song, 

"Me-o-o-o-w!" 

Oh,  she  had  a  happy  home  beneath  the  Southern  sky, 
But  she  packed  her  goods  and  left  it  when  our  troops  came  by, 
And  she  fell  into  the  column  with  a  low,  glad  cry, 

"Me-o-o-w!" 

431 


THERE  WAS  AN  OLD  SOLDIER 


A  leading  favorite  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic,  one  of  the  healthiest  survivors  of  the 
contest  between  the  Blue  and  the  Gray,  and  a  widely  known  piece  of  American  folk  lore. 


Briskly 


ATT.  R.  C. 


H 


O  there  was  an  old  sol-dier  and  he 


^£E£ 


had    a  wood-en  leg,       He  had     no     to  -  bac  -  co  but  to  -  bac  -  co    he  could  beg.      An  - 


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—  R  —  R  —  R  —  R  —  R  —  B  —  R  —  £r~ 

cp     fc    b    h  —  *—  *-i^—  J  —  ^  ^  J-  —  A 

£1      -«F  -«F  -^-      -^    *     *>-/                                         * 
oth  -  or  old       sol  -  dier,  as       sly       as     a    fox,      He 

k£i  §*p      i  3E  MF  t  

J>J>J%/i/>J^Jgftj 

al  -  ways  had  to-bac  -co    in  his 

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482 


THERE  WAS  AN  OLD  SOLDIER 


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old    to  -  bac  -  co     box. 


*-•&*•  «: 


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fc£ 


1  O  there  was  an  old  soldier  and  he  had  a  wooden  leg, 
He  had  no  tobacco  but  tobacco  he  could  beg. 
Another  old  soldier  as  sly  as  a  fox, 

He  always  had  tobacco  in  his  old  tobacco  box. 

2  Said  the  ono  old  soldier,  "Won't  you  give  me  a  chew?" 
Said  the  other  old  soldier,  "I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do, 
Save  up  your  pennies  and  put  away  your  rocks, 

And  you'll  always  have  tobacco  in  your  old  tobacco  box. " 

3  Well,  the  one  old  soldier  was  a  fcelin*  very  bad, 
He  says,  "I'll  get  even,  I  will,  begad!" 

He  goes  to  a  corner,  takes  a  rifle  from  his  peg, 

And  stabs  the  other  soldier  with  a  splinter  from  his  leg. 

4  There  was  an  old  hen  and  she  had  a  wooden  foot, 
And  she  made  her  nest  by  a  mulberry  root, 

And  she  laid  more  eggs  than  any  hen  on  the  farm; 
And  another  wooden  foot  wouldn't  do  her  any  harm. 


433 


A  FILIPINO  HOMBRE 

Soldiers  and  sailors  of  conquering  races  and  nations,  in  all  times,  it  seems,  have  had  songs  kidding 
the  language,  manners,  and  customs,  of  the  invaded,  subjugated,  and  pacified  races  and  nations.  .  .  . 
An  old  song  with  a  Spanish  tune  opens  with  the  lines,  "I  am  a  gay  cavalierio,  on  my  way  to  Rio  De 
Janicrio.  "  Verses  going  to  that  tune  arose  out  of  the  Spanish-American  War  and  the  campaign  in 
the  Philippine  Islands,  and  they  constitute  the  aong  called  A  Filipino  Hombre  or  The  Philippine 
Family.  The  Book  of  Navy  Songs  says,  "It  was  composed  and  first  sung  by  the  late  Captain 
Lyman  A.  Cotten,  U.  S.  N.,  about  1900,  when  Navy,  Army  and  Marine  Corps  were  busy  'pacifying' 
the  newly  acquired  Philippines.  "  .  .  .It  is  a  rough,  gay  fandango.  All  present  may  join  in  a 
shouted  repeat  of  the  last  word  of  each  verse. 


Alia 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


=.-4 I-=E 

-F*- — *—r 


3^*- 


There  was    once     a       Fi  -  li  -  pi    -    no    horn  -  bre  .... 


Who  ate     rice    pes  - 


atacc. 


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£inn  -    bre  His 

trous  -  ers    were   wide,     and      his 

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t-p P — L4- 


shirt  hung    out  -  side,       And     this,      I      may    say,   was      cos  -  turn  -  bre.  . 


i 


434 


A  FILIPINO  II  OMBRE 

1  There  was  once  a  Filipino  hombre  5  Of  ninos  he  had  dos  or  tres, 

Who  ate  rice  pescado  y  legumbre.  Good  types  of  the  Tagalo  race; 

His  trousers  were  wide,  and  his  shirt  hung  out-  In  dry  or  wet  weather,  in  the  altogether, 

And  this,  I  may  say,  was  costumbre.         [side,  They'd  romp  and  they'd  race  and  they'd  chase. 


He  lived  in  a  nipa  bahay 

Which  served  as  a  stable  and  sty; 

He  slept  on  a  mat  with  the  dogs  and  the  cat 

And  the  rest  of  the  family  near  by. 


6  Su  hermana  fue  lavandera, 
And  slapped  clothes  in  fuerte  manera 
On  a  rock  in  a  stream  where  the  carabaos  dream, 
Which  gave  them  a  perfume  lijera. 


8  His  daddy,  un  buen'  Filipino  7  His  brother,  who  was  a  cochero, 

Who  never  mixed  tubig  with  bino,  Buscare  in  Manila  dinero; 

Said,  "  I  am  no  insurrecto — no  got  gun  or  bolo, "      His  prices  were  high  when  a  cop  was  near  by 
Yet  used  both  to  kill  a  vccino.  To  help  scare  the  poor  pasajero. 

4  His  mujer  once  kept  a  tienda  8  He  once  owned  a  bulic  manoc 

Underneath  a  large  stone  hacienda;  With  a  haughty,  valorous  look 

She  chewed  buyo  and  sold  for  jawbone  and  gold       Which  lost  him  a  name,  y  mil  pesos  tambien, 
To  soldadcs  who  said,  "No  intienda. "  So  he  changed  to  monte  for  luck. 

9  When  his  pueblo  last  had  a  fiesta 
His  family  tried  to  digest  a 
Mule  that  had  died  of  glanders  inside — 
And  now  his  familia  no  esta. 

THE  SERGEANT,  HE  IS  THE  WORST  OF  ALL 

The  buck  private's  private  opinion  publicly  expressed,  and  that  ain't  all. 


The  ser  -  geant,  the  scr  -  geant  he    is     the  worst  of     all,  .  .    He  gets    us    up    in    the 


£ 


£ 


morn-ing    be  -  fore  the  ear  -  ly     call,  With  squads  right,  and  squads  left,  and  left  front  in  •  to 


JUJ-B 


£= 


line;      Then  the  slim  -  y      son    of      a    gun, 


he  gives    us    dou  -  ble    time. 


The  sergeant,  the  sergeant  he  is  the  worst  of  all, 
He  gets  us  up  in  the  morning  before  the  early  call, 
With  squads  right,  and  squads  left,  and  left  front  into  line; 
Then  the  slimy  son  of  a  gun,  he  gives  us  double  tim<\ 


43$ 


WRAP  ME  UP  IN  MY  TARPAULIN  JACKET 

and 
TlfE  HANDSOME  YOUNG  AIRMAN 

One  of  several  in  the  R.  W.  Gordon  collection,  this  version  (A)  is  from  Frank  Haworth  of  the 
British  Club,  Havana,  Cuba,  while  (B)  is  from  Abbe  Niles  who  comments  on  how  landlubber  songs 
often  are  in  active  duty  on  the  high  seas  and  vice  versa.  "Any  living  tune  is  a  jack  of  all  trades. 
This  variant  of  Tarpaulin  Jacket  ten  years  ago  on  the  flying  fields  was  current  among  men  who  had 
never  heard  its  original." 

Air.  A.  G.  W. 
Moderate 


J    J  JlJ 


Wrap  me  up   in    my    tar  -  pau  -  lin  jack  -  et And  say  a    poor  buff-  er  lies 


low,   lies  low;     And    six  stal-wart  lane  -  ers  shall  car-ry  me  .  .  .  .  With  steps  mourn-ful, 


I4_r%  J  JCf 

—M +*(m ^r^s* 


— •••M    .  — . — , p. 


sol-onm,  and     slow. 


I         know         I    shan't  get    to      Heav-en, 


WRAP  ME  UP  IN  MY  TARPAULIN  JACKET 


And  I    don't  want  to     go  .  .  .   be  -  low   -   ow  -  ow         Oh,       ain't  there  some 


! 


^ 


place    in      be  -  tween  them  ....        Where  this  poor  old    buff-er      can    go? 


L- ^  JL 

___4____        -_ .  — f  ^  vi  —L^- 


Wrap  me  up  in  my  tarpaulin  jacket 
And  say  a  poor  buffer  lies  low,  lies  low; 
And  six  stalwart  lancers  shall  carry  me 
With  steps  mournful,  solemn,  and  slow. 
I  know  I  shan't  get  to  Heaven, 
And  I  don't  want  to  go  below-ow-ow — 
Oh,  ain't  there  some  place  in  between  them 
Where  this  poor  buffer  can  go? 


B 

A  handsome  young  airman  lay  dying, 
And  as  on  the  airdrome  he  lay, 
To  mechanics  who  'round  him  came  sighing 
These  last  parting  words  he  did  say: 
"Take  the  cylinders  out  of  my  kidneys, 
The  connecting  rods  out  of  my  brain, 
The  crank-shaft  out  of  my  backbone, 
And  assemble  the  engine  again. " 


437 


A  WAR  BIRD'S  BURLESQUE 

In  that  revealing  and  vivid  diary  of  an  unknown  aviator  "War  Birds,"  we  learn  of  a  flyer  whose 
father  was  a  cotton  mill  owner  and,  as  the  diarist  tells  us,  "There  was  a  bomb  raid  on  last  night  and 
the  dugout  was  stuffy  so  he  and  I  went  out  and  crawled  under  a  box  car  on  the  siding.  It's  about  as 
good  shelter  as  you  can  get.  We  got  to  talking  about  home.  .  .  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  to  do. 
He  said  he  wanted  to  write  but  his  father  is  determined  to  make  a  horny-handed  hardboiled  superin- 
tendent out  of  him.  He's  all  the  time  scribbling  now.  He's  always  stopping  something  important 
to  jot  down  a  plot,  as  he  calls  it,  foi<  future  reference.  He's  got  a  brief  case  full  of  them  already, — 
plays,  short  stories,  poems,  sketches  or  what  have  you.  He's  tried  to  read  me  some  of  them  several 
times."  He  lost  one  eye,  was  wounded,  battered,  made  all  sacrifices  asked.  In  an  interlude  of  the 
program  of  hell  and  death,  he  had  an  affair  "with  a  very  charming  young  lady  who  more  or  less 
owed  allegiance  to  a  big  diplomat.  We  were  all  kidding  him  about  it  one  night  and  after  listening 
awhile  he  retired  and  penned  a  poem  on  the  subject. ".  .  .  Nine  of  the  verses  are  presented  here  with 
the  melody  given  them  by  Chicago  overseas  service  men,  Paul  Boston  and  John  Locke. 


w^ 

—  -j««  —  ^f-  <£  J^  — 

^-^  J  —  J1 

:nr  ^  J 

.-*  —  >.-^ 
/    -*  —  1 

A 

port  -  ly        Ro  -  man      Sen  -  a  -  tor         was 

sip  -  ping    his 

Rock    and 

r  —  1  In 

\A\>   Jl 

==-  ^i^Z£S£=^ 

r-£=J       ,^    A: 

:£  —  Js  ps  —  JL 

hJ'.    a-Jl 

Rye,    When  a   clas-sic     Ves  -  tal    Vir-gin  caught  his  ed  -  u  -  cat  -  ed     eye;       "Ah, 


ha,"    he      cried,    en    -    rap-  hired,  "that's    just         a  -  bout     my     style, 


e 


i 


hold       the     old    come  -  hith  -  IT         look,    that     makes    the      wild    men    wild!" 


1  A  portly  Roman  Senator  was  sipping  his  Rock  and  Rye, 
When  a  classic  Vestal  Virgin  caught  his  educated  eye; 
"Ah,  ha,"  he  cried  enraptured,  "that's  just  about  my  style, 
Behold  the  old  come-hither  look,  that  makes  the  wild  men  wild. 

2  The  old  boy  was  no  novice,  for  he'd  served  his  time  in  Gaul, 
And  he  saw  she  was  a  chicken  and  the  flapper  pose  a  stall, 

So  he  flashed  a  roll  of  talents  and  she  flashed  him  back  a  smile, 
And  she  shrugged  her  architecture  in  a  manner  to  beguile. 


438 


A  WAR  BIRD'S  BURLESQUE 

3  But  he  had  to  go  to  Naples,  where  some  rents  were  overdue, 
While  she  lingered  by  the  Tiber,  complaining  of  the  flu. 
And  no  great  time  elapsed  ere  the  wise  ones  slyly  winked, 

And  they  whispered  "Habeas  Corpus, "  as  their  golden  goblets  clinked. 

4  For  it  was  whispered  at  the  banquets  and  told  o'er  games  of  cards, 
That  a  certain  dashing  Shavetail  of  Julius  Caesar's  Guards, 

Was  bringing  home  the  bacon,  had  a  latchkey  to  the  flat, 

Had  soused  himself  in  pre-war  stock  and  was  staging  a  terrible  hat. 

5  He  broke  the  records  back  to  Rome  and  arrived  with  a  terrible  shout, 
But  the  Shavetail  heard  him  on  the  stairs  and  escaped  by  the  gutter  spout, 
The  Senator  surveyed  his  flat,  with  bottles  everywhere, 

And  picked  up  some  scattered  plumage  and  bits  of  odd  tinware. 

6  The  lady  wept  in  anguish,  but  he  only  mocked  her  cries, 

"I  gave  you  rings  for  your  fingers,  now  they're  beneath  your  eyes." 
The  sweet  young  thing  was  cagy,  she'd  exported  his  return, 
And  she  explained,  "Semper  fidelis,  won't  you  ever  learn! 

7  "Dear  Caesar  came  to  see  me,  said  Pompey's  getting  hot, 
And  the  Legion's  drilling  badly  and  the  Navy's  gone  to  pot: 
So  to  stimulate  recruiting,  I've  been  flirting  with  this  Wop." 

And  she  slipped  her  toga's  shoulder  strap,  and  displayed  a  fancy  clock. 

8  His  thoughts  went  back  to  Britain,  and  he  stroked  a  scarred  chin, 
Where  an  angry  Celtic  husband  had  expressed  his  deep  chagrin. 
He  recalled  how  his  upright  figure  and  the  polish  his  armor  bore, 
Had  intrigued  the  Spanish  maidens  on  that  temperamental  shore. 

9  And  his  anger  soon  abating,  he  replaced  the  truant  strap, 
And  she  said,  "Carpemus  diem,"  as  he  gave  her  cheek  a  slap; 
He  patted  the  tousled  curly  locks,  that  on  his  shoulder  lay, 

And  thought,  "She's  not  hors  de  combat,  'tis  part  of  an  Officer's  Pay." 


489 


HINKY  DINKY,  PARLEE-VOO 


Among  the  American  Expeditionary  Forces  in  Europe  during  the  world  war  this  was  a  high 
spot  favorite,  sung  more  often,  perhaps,  and  with  more  verses,  than  any  other  song.  ...  It  re- 
sembles an  English  pre-war  song,  and  also  an  old  American  ditty,  Snappoo  Snappoo. 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Alia  marria 


-i  --  1- 


Two  Ger  -  man    of  -  fi  -  cers  crossed  the  Rhine,       Par    -    -    -    lee  -  voo, 

staccato 


Two 


bE=J=.UEU=J 


Ger  -  man    of  -  fi  -  cers  crossed    the  Rhine,  Par    -     -     -    lee  -  voo, 


Two 


* 


t=j — h 


TE^E 


^1 


Ger  -  man   of  -  fi  -  cers  crossed  the  Rhine    to    kiss      the  wom-en    and  drink    the  wine, 


440 


HINKY   DINKY,  PARLEK-VOO! 


i 


-^HF 


Hin  -  ky      din  -  ky,     Par   -    -    lee   -     -   voo. 


1  Two  German  officers  crossed  the  Rhine,  parlee-voo, 
Two  German  officers  crossed  the  Rhine,  parlee-voo, 
Two  German  officers  crossed  the  Rhine 

To  kiss  the  women  and  drink  the  wine,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

2  "Oh  farmer,  have  you  a  daughter  fair,  parlee-voo, 
Oh  farmer,  have  you  a  daughter  fair,  parlee-voo, 
Oh  farmer,  have  you  a  daughter  fair 

Who  can  wash  a  soldier's  underwear,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

8  Mademoiselle  from  Armentieres,  parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle  from  Armentieres,  parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle  from  Armentieres 
She  ain't  even  heard  of  underwear,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

4  Mademoiselle  from  Armentieres,  parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle  from  Armentieres,  parlee-voo, 
If  you  never  wash  your  underwear 

You'll  never  get  the  Croix  de  Guerre,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

5  Many  and  many  a  married  man,  parlee-voo, 
Many  and  many  a  married  man,  parlee-voo, 
Many  and  many  a  married  man 

Wants  to  go  back  to  France  again,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

6  The  captain  he's  carrying  the  pack,  parlee-voo, 
The  captain  he's  carrying  the  pack,  parlee-voo, 
The  captain  he's  carrying  the  pack, 

Hope  to  Lord  it  breaks  his  back,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

7  The  officers  get  all  the  steak,  parlee-voo, 
The  officers  get  all  the  steak,  parlee-voo, 
The  officers  get  all  the  steak, 

And  all  we  get  is  the  belly-ache,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

441 


HINKY  DINKY,  PARLEY  YOU! 

8  The  M.  P.s  say  they  won  the  war,  porlee-voo, 
The  M.  P.s  say  they  won  the  war,  parlee-voo, 
The  M.  P.s  say  they  won  the  war 

Standing  on  guard  at  a  cafe  door,  hinky  dinky,  partee-voo. 

9  The  little  marine  in  love  with  his  nurse,  parlee-voo. 
The  little  marine  in  love  with  his  nurse,  parlee-voo, 
The  little  marine  in  love  with  his  nurse, 

He's  taken  her  now  for  better  or  worse,  hinky  dinky,  partee-voo. 

10  Mademoiselle  all  dressed  in  white,  parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle  all  dressed  in  blue,  parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle  all  dressed  in  black, 

'Cause  her  little  marine  he  didn't  come  back,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 

11  You  might  forget  the  gas  and  shell,  parlee-voo, 
You  might  forget  the  gas  and  shell,  parlee-voo, 
You  might  forget  the  gas  and  shell, 

You'll  never  forget  the  mademoiselle,  hinky  dinky,  parlee-voo. 


WHERE  THEY  WERE 

This  is  a  little  tough  on  the  Brass  Hats  but  they  are  used  to  it.  ...  The  text  is  from  Harold  and 
Verner  Johnson  of  New  York  City. 


^3 


g=3E3 


fc 


-w  -        m 

If      you  want  to  know  where  the  pri  -  vateswere,  I'll    tell    you  where  they  were,  I'll 


rfr-f  -fr 

—  ^  —  J?  —  j  — 

5.  .  , 

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S 

1 

tell      you 

-*  -•    *  —  j  — 

where  they  were, 

— 

Yes, 

4^ 
I'll 

m   • 

tell 

rl-1- 
you 

=* 

J  •   ^ 

where  they 

|      M     .  J- 

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were; 

—  m   . 

=^= 

Oh, 

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if 

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you 

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1  Jf  u  —  *  N- 

} 
N  _^  ^_ 

it)'  J     ^ 

__J!_J^  A 

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•  '  - 

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^     ' 

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y  1 

want    to    know    where   the    pri  -  vates  were,      I'll    tell       you  where  they    were: 

442 


WHERE  THEY  WERE 

CHORUS 


3 


* 


Up        to       their  necks      in         mud, 


saw         them,     I         saw 


them, 


J  J     3 


Up       to    their  necks    in      mud,     I        saw    them,  Up       to    their  nooks    in      mud. 


1  If  you  want  to  know  where  the  privates  were,     $ 

I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  where  they  were; 
Oh,  if  you  want  to  know  where  the  privates  were, 
111  tell  you  where  they  were: 
Up  to  their  neoks  in  mud, 
I  saw  them,  I  saw  them, 
Up  to  their  neoks  in  mud,  I  saw  them 
Up  to  their  necks  in  mud. 

3  If  you  want  to  know  where  the  captains  were,     4 

I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  where  they  were; 
Oh,  if  you  want  to  know  where  the  captains  were, 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were: 
Drinking  the  privates*  rum, 
I  saw  them,  I  saw  them, 
Drinking  the  privates'  rum,  I  saw  them 
Drinking  the  privates'  rum. 


If  you  want  to  know  where  the  sergeants  were, 

I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 
I'll  tell  you  whore  they  wore, 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  whore  thoy  were; 
Oh,  if  you  want  to  know  whore  the  sergeants 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were:  [were, 

Clipping  the  old  barbed-wiro, 

I  saw  them,  I  saw  thorn, 
Clipping  the  old  barbed-wire,  I  saw  them 
Clipping  the  old  barbed-wire. 

If  you  want  to  know  where  the  officers  were, 

I'll  toll  you  where  they  were, 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were, 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  where  they  were; 
Oh,  if  you  want  to  know  where  the  officers  were, 
I'll  tell  you  when;  they  wore: 
Down  in  their  deop  dugout, 
I  saw  them,  I  saw  them, 
Down  in  their  deep  dugout,  I  saw  them 
Down  in  their  deep  dugout. 


5  And  if  you  want  to  know  where  the  generals  wore, 

1*11  toll  you  whore  they  wore, 
1*11  toll  you  whore  thoy  wore, 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  where  they  wore; 
Oh,  if  you  want  to  know  whore  the  generals  were, 
I'll  tell  you  where  they  were: 
Back  in  gay  Faroe, 

I  saw  them,  I  saw  them, 
Back  in  gay  Paree,  I  saw  them 
Back  in  gay  Paree. 


443 


THE  HEARSE  SONG 

Casualty  records  of  the  world  war  indicated  in  round  numbers  ten  million  dead  and  twenty 
million  crippled.  The  Hearse  Song  was  popular  in  all  branches  of  service,  though  in  the  aviation 
corps  it  had  more  variants.  The  version  (A)  is  from  James  Stevens,  Irma  H.  Thrane  and  W.  W. 
Woodbridge  of  Washington,  while  (B)  is  from  Jake  Zeitlin  of  Los  Angeles  and  Fort  Worth. 


j 


The     old  Grey  Hearse  goes  roll-ing  by,  You  don't  know  wheth-er  to  laugh  or  cry,  For  you 


i 


— f — f HF 

-^-*- 


know  some  day       it  -  '11  get  you    too,  And  the  hearse's  next  load  may  con  -  sist     of — you. 


1  The  old  Grey  Hearse  goes  rolling  by, 
You  don't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry; 
For  you  know  some  day  it'll  get  you  too, 
And  the  hearse's  next  load  may  consist  of  —  you. 


B 

1  Did  you  ever  think  as  the  hearse  rolls  by 
That  some  of  these  days  you  must  surely  die? 
They'll  take  you  away  in  a  big  black  hack, 
They'll  take  you  away  but  won't  bring  you 
back. 


2  They  '11  take  you  out  and  they  '11  lower  you  down,  2  The  men  with  shovels  stand  all  around. 
While  men  with  shovels  stand  all  a-round;  They  shovel  you  into  that  cold,  wet  ground. 

They'll  throw  in  dirt  and  they'll  throw  in  rocks,       They  shovel  in  dirt  and  they  throw  in  rocks. 
And  they  won't  give  a  dam-m-m  if  they  break     They  don't  give  a  dam  if  they  break  the  box. 
the  box. 

.8  The  worms  crawl  in  and  the  worms  crawl  out,   3  And  your  eyes  drop  out  and  your  teeth  fall  in 
They  crawl  all  over  your  chin  and  mouth,  And  the  worms  crawl  over  your  mouth  and  chin  ; 

They  invite  their   friends   and    their   friends'      And  the  worms  crawl  out  and  the  worms  crawl 

friends  too,  in 

And  you  look  like  hell  when  they're  —  through  —      And  your  limbs  drop  off  of  you  limb  by  limb. 
with  you. 


444 


LOVELY  PEOPLE 


HARMONIZATION  BT  PAOB 

MAN  GOIN*  ROUN' Hozd  Fdman         ....  447 

ALL  NIGHT  LONG Haztl  Fdman         ....  448 

ZEK'L  WEEP Hazd  Fdman         ....  449 

i  KNOW  MOONLIGHT Hazd  Fdman         .       .       .       .451 

BLIND  MAN  LAY  BESIDE  THE  WAY Alfred  0.  Wathall   ....  45$ 

BY'M  BY Marion  Lychenheim       .       .       .  458 

GO  TO  SLEEPY Maybelle  Stith        ....  454 

JUNGLE  MAMMY   SONG 455 

TEN   THOUSAND   MILES   AWAY   FROM    HOME              .           .           .          Ruth  Crawford           ....  456 

MY  OLD  HAMMAH Henry  Francis  Parks     .       .       .  457 

CHARCOAL  MAN Tltorvold  Otierstrdm       .       .       .  459 

THE  WEAVER Alfred  G.  Waihatl  ....  400 

THE  COLORADO  TRAIL Alfred  G.  Waiholl  ....  46£ 

I  MET   HER   IN   THE  GARDEN  WHERE  THE  PRATIES  GROW         Alfred  G.  WdthdJl   ....  4(13 

SOMEBODY Elizabeth  Marshall         .       .       .  404 

I    DON'T   WANT   TO   BE   A    GAMBLER 405 

WHEN   POOR   MARY   CAME   WANDERING    HOME       .          .          .         Leo  SoWCrby 400 


445 


Things  in  a  picture  must  not  have  the  appearance  of  being  brought  together  by  chance  or  for 
a.  purpose,  but  must  have  a  necessary  and  inevitable  connection. 

I  desire  that  the  creations  which  I  depict  should  have  the  air  of  being  dedicated  to  their  situ- 
ation, so  that  one  could  not  imagine  that  they  would  dream  of  being  anything  else  than  what  they 
are.  A  work  of  art  ought  to  be  all  one  piece,  and  the  men  and  things  in  it  should  always  be  there 
for  a  reason. 

It  were  tetter  that  the  things  weakly  said  should  not  be  said  at  all,  because  in  the  former  case 
they  are  only,  as  it  were,  deflowered  and  spoiled. 

Beauty  does  not  consist  so  much  in  the  things  represented,  as  in  the  need  one  has  of  express- 
ing them;  and  this  need  it  is  which  creates  the  degree  of  force  with  which  one  acquits  oneself  of 
the  work.  One  may  say  that  everything  is  beautiful  provided  the  thing  turns  up  in  its  own  proper 
time  and  in  its  own  place;  and  contrariwise,  that  nothing  can  be  beautiful  arriving  inappropriately 

Let  Apollo  be  Apollo,  and  Socrates  Socrates. 

Which  is  more  beautiful,  a  straight  tree  or  a  crooked  tree? 

Whichever  is  most  in  place. 

This  then  is  my  conclusion:  The  beautiful  is  that  which  is  in  place. 

JEAN  FRANCOIS  MILLET. 


446 


MAN  COIN'  ROUN' 


At  first  glance  this  may  seem  a  whimsical  reference  to  the  census  taker  going  from  door  to 
door  and  taking  the  names  of  all  people  without  regard  to  sex,  color,  race,  or  previous  condition  of 
servitude.  Then  we  come  to  the  line,  "an*  he  leave  my  heart  in  pain,"  and  we  know  it  is  a  more 
august  and  austere  Enumerator  than  any  employed  in  the  transient  and  temporal  governments 
of  man.  Each  verse  deals  with  a  relative,  mother,  father,  sister,  brother,  or  other  dear  one,  checked 
off  from  the  list  of  the  living.  A  true  instance  of  the  poetry  "to  be  overheard  ratlier  than  heard," 
it  keeps  for  those  of  long  acquaintance  with  it,  an  overtone  of  a  reverie  on  the  riddles  of  death 
and  the  frail  permits  by  which  any  one  generation  walks  before  the  mirrors  of  life.  I  heard  it  in 
Columbia,  South  Carolina,  sung  for  a  group  including  Julia  Peterkin,  Danny  and  Isadora  Bennett 
Read,  and  Prof,  and  Mrs.  Taylor  in  whose  family  Rebecca,  the  singer,  was  a  servant  since  a  child. 
Rebecca  was  far  in  years  but  had  a  young  singing  heart  and  a  clear  singing  voice.  She  was  bashful, 
hesitant,  at  times,  about  going  on  with  the  songs,  giving  a  silvery  chuckle  with  a  sidewise  turn  of 
her  head  as  she  took  up  the  lines  of  a  new  song.  There  were  moments  when  I  felt  about  this  homely, 
rather  slightly  built,  black  woman,  the  strength  of  earth  and  the  patience  of  large,  slow-changing 
landscapes. 

Arr.  II.  F. 


There's  a  man  go  -  in'  roun'  tak-in'  names,  There's  a  man  go-in'  roun'  tak-in'  names,  An'  he 


t=tTT~a±I  J  JK  i    i.  JJ=J^5 


took  my  mother'  name,  An'  he  leave  my  heart  in  pain,  There's  a  man  go-iu'  roun'  takin*  names. 


-^- 


1  There's  a  man  goin'  roun*  takin'  names, 
There's  a  man  goinf  roun'  takin'  names. 
An'  he  took  my  mother'  name, 
An*  he  leave  my  heart  in  pain, 
There's  a  man  goin'  roun'  takin'  names. 


There's  a  man  goin'  roun'  takin'  names, 
There's  a  man  goin'  roun'  takin'  names, 
An'  he  took  my  father*  name. 
An'  he  leave  my  heart  in  pain, 
There's  a  man  goin'  roun'  takin'  names. 


3,  4,  etc.    Sister,  brother,  etc. 

447 


ALL  NIGHT  LONG 


This  is  the  second  of  a  trilogy  from  Rebecca  Taylor.    It  comes  speaking  in  parables  joined 
to  an  air  that  is  stately  even  though  simple. 

Arr.  H.  F. 

Moderately  Ja»t 


^P" 


nn 


^£&=*£ 


@ 


Paul    and      Si  -  las,  bound  in  jail,       All nightlong One    foh  to  sing    an' de 


« 


=3 


fc_!_t;_j|E 


JlklJ 


m 


t+Wrf 


¥ 


Ped.      *  Pad. 


oth-ah  foh  to  pray,    All  night    long One  foh  to  sing  an*  de  oth-ah  foh  to  pray, 


5 


^ 


Ped.       * 


m 


i 


All night  long. 


Do,  Lawd,     de- lib -bah  po*    me! 


Ped.    * 


448 


ALL  NIGHT  LONG 

Straight  up  to  heaven,  straight  right  back,  8  Nebah  seen  de  like  since  I  ben  born, 

All  night  long.  All  night  long. 

Tain'  but  de  one  train  on  dis  track,  People  keep  comin'  an*  de  train  done  gone, 

All  night  long.  All  night  long. 

Tain'  but  de  one  train  on  dis  track.  People  keep  comin*  an*  de  train  done  gone, 

All  night  long.  All  night  long. 

Do,  Lawd,  delibbah  po*  me!  Do,  Lawd,  delibbah  po'  me! 


ZEK'L  WEEP 

This  is  the  third  number  of  the  majestic  trilogy  from  Rebecca  Taylor. 


AIT.  H.  F. 


Zek-'l      weep,       Zek  -  '1     mo'n,         Flesh  come  a-creep-in*  off     o*  Zek  -  '1     bones; 


-4          b£ 

^  —^F 


J 

g 


j ^4-=^==. 


s 


[LJ.J  j^U 


=^ 


Church,  I   know  you  go'n   to  miss  me     When  I'm     gone. 


When  I'm 


JLJ— 4 


^ 


£=± 


r 

449 


'T~r~r~T 


rrrr 


ZEICL  WEEP 


3 


3 


gone,  gone,         gone,  When   I'm    gone        to    come     no      mo*, 


r~rT~~rnrT"  r    r    r  TT 


•J  ~  J^r-^^l^ 


^ 


Cliurch,  I     know  you  go'n     to     miss      me    When   I'm       gone. 


r  r 


1  Zek'l  weep,  Zek'l  mo'n, 
Flesh  come  a-creepin*  off  o'  Zek*l  bones; 
Church,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  Fin  gone. 
When  Fin  gone,  gone,  gone, 
When  I'm  gone  to  come  no  mo', 
Church,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  Fin  gone. 


Star  in  the  east,  star  in  the  west, 
Wish  that  star  was  in  my  breast, 
Church,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  Fm  gone. 
When  I'm  gone,  gone,  gone, 
When  Fm  gone  to  come  no  mo', 
Church,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  I'm  gone. 


3  Hush,  little  baby,  don*  you  cry, 
Know  that  yo'  mother  done  born  to  die, 
Chillun,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  I'm  gone. 
When  Fm  gone,  gone,  gone, 
When  Fm  gone  to  come  no  mo', 
Chillun,  I  know  you  go'n  to  miss  me 

When  Fm  gone. 

450 


I  KNOW  MOONLIGHT 


An  arrangement  of  lines  from  a  slave  day  spiritual. 


Arr.  H.  F. 


5= 


£ 


I       know 


moon  -  light, 


I       know 


star  -  light, 


* 


ftp       mf 


p     p 


-n— F— — * — ^- 


-  a  -  y          this  bod  -    y 


down. 


1  I  know  moonlight, 
I  know  starlight, 
I  ky  this  body  down. 


I  walk  in  the  moonlight, 
I  walk  in  the  .starlight, 
I  lay  this  body  down. 


3  I  go  to  judgment 
In  the  evenin'  of  the  day, 
When  I  ky  this  body  down. 


451 


BLIND  MAN  LAY  BESIDE  THE  WAY 

A  brief  story  .  .  .  compact  in  diction  .  .  .  useless  to  add  or  subtract  words. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Moderate  eon  moto 


- 


m 


Blind  man     lay  be  -  side     the      way,         He     could  not       see          the 


mf)  dole*  ed  ciprurivo 

I=s= 


light  of     day.. 


The  Lord  passed  by       and  heard  him  say:      "O 


r^niA-.. i^^_ 


53^  ^  ^ ^       _____^  „ 


Lord,     won't  you  help  -  a  me! 

&t 


O  Lord,  won't  you  help  -  a    me!" 


BUND  MAN  LAY  BESIDE  THE  WAY 


2  A  man  he  died,  was  crucified, 
They  hung  a  thief  on  either  side; 
One  lifted  up  his  voice  and  cried: 
"O  Lord,  won't  you  help-a  me! 
O  Lord,  won't  you  help-a  me!" 


3  A  blind  man  lay  by  the  way  and  cried, 
*'O  Lord,  won't  you  help-a  me." 
And  the  thief  cried  out  before  he  died, 
"O  Lord,  won't  you  help-a  me! 
O  Lord,  won't  you  help-a  me!" 


BY'M  BY 

The  stealth  and  mystery  of  the  coming  out  of  the  stars  one  by  one  on  the  night  sky  ...  a 
fragment  of  a  spiritual  heard  in  Texas  in  the  early  1880*s  by  Charley  Thorpe  of  Santa  Fe, 

Arr.  M.  L. 


V  — 

—  _j__  m  — 

-^  —  =1 

•^-JT- 

;•  j*  ^  p  j  —  f>  j 

Mfo  *t  ^Lt_\  1 
By'm 

by,          by'm 

j.  jj| 

by,                 Stabs      shin  -  in', 

•      I.               ...J         =£zfa 

Num-bah,  num-bah  one,  Num-bah 

[f7~]  J  j    ji  | 

'„',  f 

-&-1  IK- 

•tyg'-*  £— 

I 

^    ^ 

j 

pJP  —  ^ 

SJL 

^_$_8L<  — 

— 

—  *  —  £—=  ' 

IE  —  ltu»  — 

^^A^^ 


ju  J  J-r- 


TTT-^fl 


two,  num-bah  three,  Good  Lawd,     by'm  by,  by'm  by,  Good  Lawd,      by'm  by. 


mta 


i 


£ 


M 


f 


i 


1  r 

By'm  by,  by'm  by, 
Stahs  shinin', 
Numbah,  numbah  one, 
Numbah  two,  numbah  three, 
Good  Lawd,  by'm  by,  by'm  by, 
Good  Lawd,  by'm  by. 

453 


GO  TO  SLEEPY 


A  traditional  lullaby  in  the  City  of  Athens,  State  of  Georgia,  as  written,  words,  air,  and  har- 
monization by  Maybelle  Stith  of  that  city  and  state.  She  commented,  "In  the  left  hand  I  tried 
to  get  the  effect  of  a  cradle  rocking.  It  was  rather  difficult  to  indicate  the  time  as  it  varies  with 
the  mood  of  the  singer." 

Arr.  M.  S. 

Modentto  -  - 


^ 


Go       to    sleep  -  y,  lit  -  tie     ba    -    by,        To'       de  boo-ger  man  ketch     you. 


j_ 

a  tempo,  piu  animate 


ri/. 


When  you    wake  you'll  have  a  piece  of  cake  And  a  whole    lot    of  lit  -  tie  hors  -  es. 

i 


mf)  a  tempo,  piu  animate 


-a- 


a  tempo,  piu  animato 


H_%ff'    V 

—  i  -j  

f^*"l  1  1  

t  —  ,  ^  pN  ^  (^-| 

-..-4  —         J 

When 

_  j  _j_j     J     ,.j  ahr-r«  .     J-   ^  j-   *    -^  =—• 

you     wake   you  shall  have    a       cake,     coach   and   four  lit  -  tie    pon  -    ies. 
*> 

^WrV— 

A 

<mtt*  i  —  r"  r  p  —  ?"  — 

tnjD  a  tempo,  piu  animato 

T   Err—^ 
rg   ^    p—  i 

r     r       ' 

T~"  p- 

/Is 

^-M^-p  — 

j  

-f  —  F  —  F  — 

454 


piuknto 


GO  TO  SLEEPY 

ril.  == 


i 


$ 


A  black  and  a  bay,  and  a  dap-pie  and  a  gray.       Go     to  sleep  -y,  lit  -tie  ba  -  by. 


mf) 


=3= 


IF 


— ^fi— 

Go  to  sleepy,  little  baby, 

To*  de  booger  man  ketch  you. 

When  you  wake  you'll  have  a  piece  of  cake 

And  a  whole  lot  of  little  horses. 

Go  to  sleepy,  little  baby, 

To*  de  booger  man  ketch  you. 

When  you  wake  you  shall  have  a  cake, 

Coach  and  four  little  ponies, 

A  black  and  a  bay,  and  a  dapple  and  a  gray. 

Go  to  sleepy,  little  baby. 


JUNGLE  MAMMY  SONG 

Margaret  Johnson  of  Augusta,  Georgia,  heard  her  mother  sing  this,  year  on  year,  as  the  mother 
had  learned  it  from  the  singing,  year  on  year,  of  a  negro  woman  who  comforted  children  with  it. 
The  source  of  its  language  may  be  French,  Creole,  Cherokee,  or  mixed.  The  syllables  are  easy 
for  singing;  so  is  the  tune.  It  may  be,  as  provisionally  titled,  a  Jungle  Mammy  Song,  in  the  sense 
that  all  mothers  are  primitive  and  earthy  even  though  civilized  and  celestial. 


J    J 


Ah       yah,    tair    um  bam,  boo  wah,      Kee   lay       zee   day,      Nic      o    lay,      mah 


/KB  —  i  —  -t  P1  —  Jfc- 

U    J      n   JU 

-_4-T  P*  Jfc- 

hj—  ^h-  3=\ 

i  J        j^fci 

fep  n  J  —  J  J  <•   • 

•*  —  ^  —  J  »  <r 

•*-^  —  J  .  ^ 

-*—*->•  ^~ 

^J3. 

lun     dee.     Nic   o   lay     ah      pool   a   way,     Nic    o   lay     ah       wah    mee —    Ah 


nffff  

—  i  1 

r  —  :  —  - 

~~i  i  —  H 

Ivp    J  —  *  *  f  J  —  J 

^=± 

1  J_S  J-J 

1    f>  *p  J    j 

IJ   J  " 

yah,   tair  um  bam,  boo  wah,     Kee  lay      zee  day,     Nic   o    lav.    mah  lun     dee. 

455 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY  FROM  HOME 


This  may  be  one  of  the  many  Po'  Boy  songs,  carrying  its  own  peculiar  load  of  grief.     Verse 
sometimes  goes — 

I  went  down  to  the  railroad 
Where  the  big  six- wheelers  ran; 
I  saw  my  woman  sitting  there 
In  the  arms  of  another  man. 

And  occasionally,  for  the  sake  of  plot,  these  two  verses  are  interspersed — 

I  stood  on  the  street  fcorner; 

It  was  shortly  after  dark; 

Along  came  a  man  with  the  woman  I  love, 

And  I  stabbed  him  through  the  heart. 

"Well,  it's  please,  Mr.  Judge,  now  please,  Mr.  Judge, 
It's  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me?  " 
He  says,  "  If  I  find  you  guilty,  dear  boy, 
I'm  goin'  to  send  you  to  the  penitentiary." 

Air.  R.  C. 


s 


=3- 

Ten  thou-sand  miles  a  -  way  from  home  And   I 


r — &  \       *  r    r      r 


^ 


^ 


^ 


^ * 


don't  e-ven  know  my  name,  For  think-in'    a  -  bout  the  wom-an     I    love,  Ran  a  - 


r- 


^ 


3 


456 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  AWAY  FROM  HOME 


i 


way  with  an  -  oth  -  er     man. 


2  I  went  down  to  the  old  depot, 
The  trains  were  a-pa&in'  by; 

Looked  through  the  bars,  saw  the  woman  I  love, 
And  I  hung  my  head  and  cried. 

3  Standing  on  the  street  corner, 
And  the  girl  I  loved  passed  by; 

She  shrugged  her  shoulder  and  passed  me  by, 
And  I  tucked  my  head  and  cried. 


MY  OLD  IIAMMAII 

The  power  and  restraint  of  art  and  genius  lurk  in  the  lines  and  melody  of  this  song  from  tht 
negro  hard  rock  gangs  of  Georgia  and  Alabama.  The  air  is  to  be  freely  rendered.  It  is  strictly 
one  with  variations,  glides,  blue  notes,  as  you  choose  at  moments.  It  relates  directly  to  an  older 
piece  known  in  the  mountains  as  Swannanoa  Town.  Sharp  and  Campbell  present  a  fine  air  and 
ten  verses  of  the  latter  in  "English  Folk  Songs  from  the  Southern  Appalachians/'  of  which  thew 
are  four  specimen  verses: 

When  you  hear  my  bull-dog  barking, 
Somebody  round,  baby,  somebody  round. 

When  you  hear  my  pistol  firing, 

Another  man  dead,  baby,  another  man  dead. 

Look  for  me  till  your  eye  runs  water, 
I'll  be  at  home,  baby,  I'll  be  at  home. 

Don't  you  remember  last  December, 

The  wind  blowed  cold,  baby,  the  wind  bio  wed  cold. 

In  accompaniment  Henry  Francis  Parks  indicates,  "The  hammer  stroke  motive  should  quite 
predominate." 

457 


MY  OLD  HAMMAH 


Arr.  H.  F.  P. 


jj—  ^ 


| 


My  old  ham-mah Shin-a  like 


Languidly 


portn 


Introduction 


Mjyj+jUrjjEiy 


J-J-4-J  JJJlJM 


porta 


GWMn5=  ; 

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1 

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sil    -    vii 

—  i 
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hi. 

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.  .    Yes,  shin-a  like 

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h*  —  «  —  ^  F— 

rp            ?^i? 

r 

ST3 

r    r 

r  . 

f<* 

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f 

1  My  old  hatnmah 
Shinn  like  silvah, 
Shina  like  gol', 
Yes,  shina  like  gol\ 

2  Dere  ain*  no  hammoh 
Ina  this  old  mountain, 
Shina  like  mine, 

Yes,  shina  like  mine! 


3  This  old  haminah 
Kill  my  pahtnah, 
But  it  can't  kill  me, 
No,  it  can't  kill  me! 

4  I  ben  a-workin', 

Ona  this  hyer  railroad, 
Fo*  long  year,  boys, 
Yes,  fo'  long  year! 


5  0  next  winter 
Be  so  col', 
Be  so  col\ 
Yes,  be  so  col*! 

458 


CHAHCOAL  MAN 


Once  the  comment  was  heard  on  this,  "It  is  a  delicate  imprint  on  a  field  of  silence."  ...  An 
old  man  selling  charcoal  used  to  proclaim  himself  to  the  residents  of  Springfield,  Missouri,  with  this 
morning  cry.  ...  I  notated  it,  hazardously,  from  the  singing  of  a  faculty  member  of  the  state 
teachers'  college  at  Greeley,  Colorado.  She  came  from  Missouri. 

Arr.  Th.  O. 
«      Slowly 


P 


O  -  o    -    o  -  oh,     lilf    man, 


Go get   yo* 


>  .  , 


4  4 


^U-ii  im 


* 


J— »—f»--«.«          •. 


=<=E=g3 


pan; 


Tell -a 


yo'  mnm Hych  come  clc  choh-coal         man  - 


"  '' 


i 


r1- 


n    -    n    - 


n.      Chah-coal! 


^ 


m 


w 


O-o-o-oh,  lil*  man, 
Go  get  yo'  pan; 
Tell -a  yo'  mam 

Hyeh  come  de  chahcoal  man-n-n-n. 
Chahcoal! 

459 


THE  WEAVER 


A  variant  of  Foggy  Foggy  Dew,  or  I  Am  A  Bachelor,  a  song  that  stands  against  time  and  weather 
tells  a  short-spoken  story  and  ends  with  no  more  to  say. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Moderate  con  tipret$ione 


* 


m 


I  was      a  bach -e- lor,     I  lived         by      my-self,    I  worked      at     the  weav-er's 


fei 


trade; The  on    -    ly     tiling     I     did    that  was  wrong  Was  to  woo   a    pret-ty 


=3_K _ f-x—L-Jt 

^ 1-4>-      ezp^ 


"L- 


Ei 


^r- 


3t 


sostcnuto^ 


m 


^ 


maid. 


I    wooed  her  in  the      sum  -  mer  time  And   in   the  win  -  ter,  too; And 


i 


^f-r  r  i»^-^-J-^T7'-^rf 


460 


THE  WEAVER 


all     night  long    I    held  her  in  my  arms,  Just  to  shield  her  from  the  foggy,  foggy  dew. 


1  I  was  a  bachelor,  I  lived  by  myself, 
I  worked  at  the  weaver's  trade; 
The  only  thing  I  did  that  was  wrong 
Was  to  woo  a  pretty  maid. 
I  wooed  her  in  the  summer-time 
And   in   the   winter,   too; 
And  all  night  long  I  held  her  in  my  arms, 
Just  to  shield  her  from  the  foggy,  foggy  dew. 

£  I  am  a  bachelor,  I  live  with  my  son; 
We  work  at  the  weaver's  trade; 
And  ev'ry  single  time  I  look  into  his  eyes 
He  reminds  me  of  the  fair  young  maid. 
He  reminds  me  of  the  winter-time 
And  of  the  summer,  too; 

And  the  many,  many  times  that  I  held  her  in  my  arms,, 
Just  to  shield  her  from  the  foggy,  foggy  dew. 


461 


THE  COLORADO  TRAIL 


A  boss  wrangler  brought  a  car  of  ponies  to  Duluth,  Minnesota.  The  next  day,  after  brave 
stunt  riding,  he  was  laid  in  a  hospital  bed  with  "ruptures  on  both  sides."  He  told  the  surgeon 
Dr.  T.  L.  Chapman,  in  a  soft,  forgiving  voice,  "That  was  a  terribly  bad  hoss  —  not  only  throwed 
me,  but  he  trompled  me."  Out  of  past  years  this  rider  had,  Dr.  Chapman's  examination  disclosed, 
"bones  of  both  upper  and  lower  legs  broken,  fractures  of  collar  bone  on  both  sides,  numerous  frac- 
tures of  both  arms  and  wrists,  and  many  scars  from  lacerations  and  tramplings,  the  bones  knit  any 
way  that  God  and  Nature  let  them  heal."  As  his  strength  came  back  he  sang  across  the  hospital 
ward  in  a  mellowed  tenor  voice.  And  they  always  called  for  more.  One  song  was  The  Colorado 
Trail  remembered  by  Dr.  Chapman  as  here  set  down. 


AIT.  A.  G.  W. 


Modernto;  motto  ctprrmrivo 


- — fr^-ft-jL-icit-i  ,    '__  v  , —  |  N  h  ft  J>  a  h    i  i 
^^Ei&^s^^^-yglZI^J^J^^-^^JLLJ  j.  N  7^ 


Eyes  like  the  morning  star,  Cheek  like  a  rose,        Lau-ra  was  a  pret-ty  girl,  God  Almighty  knows. 


gr^'V;jiU/^ffl 


Weep,  all  ye  lit-tlc  rains,  Wail,  winds,  wail,  All  a-long,  a-long,  a-longTheCol-or-a-do  trail. 


1  Eyes  like  the  morning  star, 

Cheek  like  a  rose, 
Laura  was  a  pretty  girl, 
God  Almighty  knows. 


Weep,  all  ye  little  rains, 
Wail,  winds,  wail, 

All  along,  along,  along 
The  Colorado  trail. 


463 


I  MET  HER  IN  THE  GARDEN  WHERE  THE  PRATIES  GROW 


A  quizzical,  round-the-corner  laughter  at  trouble  that  started  where  the  potato  blossoms  grow. 
C.  W.  Loutzenhiser,  the  old  railroad  man  of  Chicago,  who  as  a  boy  traveled  with  his  father's  circus, 
said  he  often  sang  this  with  an  Irish  girl,  and  the  both  of  them  used  to  wonder  as  the  years  went 
by,  why  they  met  only  this  one  verse. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


m 


» — * 


O,  have  ye  been  in  love,  me  boys,  And  have  ye  felt  the  pain?       I'd    rath  -  cr   be    in 


^ 


mf 


r 


m 


3 


m 


3 


y=f- 


^ 


± 


jail,   me  boys,  Than  be    in  love    a -gain;         O,      I    met   her  in    the  morn  -  in',  And  I'll, 


have  yez  all  to  know —    That  I  met  her  in  the    gar  -  den  Where  the  pra-ties         grow. 


O,  have  ye  been  in  love,  me  boys, 
And  have  ye  felt  the  pain? 
I'd  rather  be  hi  jail,  me  boys, 
Than  be  in  love  again; 
0, 1  met  her  in  the  mornin* 
And  I'll  have  yez  all  to  kn6w 
That  I  met  her  in  the  garden 
Where  the  praties  grow. 

469 


SOMEBODY 


A  fugitive  little  lyric  heard  by  Edwin  Ford  Piper  from  the  singing  of  his  pioneer  mother  in  the 
1880's  on  a  farm  near  Auburn,  Nebraska.  ...  At  the  University  of  Virginia,  a  lad  from  near  Lynch- 
burg,  Virginia,  said  he  had  heard  it  from  old  people  and  it  had  been  sung  roundabout  that  neigh- 
borhood a  long  time. 

Arr.  E.  M. 


Some      -      bod-y's  tall  and    hand -some,. 


rrM: 


Some      -      bod-y's  brave  and        true. 


£J     *  *     \          *  LJ  LJ      t  *     i 


=£= 


Some 


bod  -  y's  hair 


is     ver 


y       fair, 


r    u    *- 


1     '*1U 


464 


SOMEBODY 


WH  J 

^ 

— 

^    j 

—  J2=  

"         H 

Some 


bod  -  y's  eyes 


are    blue. 


m 


s 


"  f 


Fa  "  T-1 

IT^"^ 

3  —  *-t— 

t*  — 

\  g^3 

1  Somebody's  tall  and  handsome, 
Somebody's  brave  and  true. 
Somebody's  hair  is  very  fair, 
Somebody's  eyes  are  blue. 


2  Somebody  comes  to  see  me, 
Somebody  came  last  night. 
Somebody  asked  me  to  marry  him, 
'Course  I  said,  "All  right." 


I  DON'T  WANT  TO  BE  A  GAMBLER 


J  I   J      -4 

T  —  *~  ^==^ 

- 


fi 

9  -  9 


1.  Oh,    I  don't  want  to  be      a    gam -bier,       An*  I'll  tell  you  the  rca  -  son    why: 
M     Cnoaus 


\ 


My  Lord  sit  -  tin*  in  his  King-dom,  Got  his    eyes    on      me,  God  got    his  eyes      on 


.j  j  i . 


i 


^^ 


me,  God  got  his  eyes    on      me,    My  Lord  sit-tin'  in  his  Kingdom,  Got  his  eyes    on    me. 

2  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  liar, 
An'  I'll  tell  you  the  reason  why:    Chorus. 

8  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  drunkard, 
An*  I'll  tell  you  the  reason  why:    Chorus. 


465 


WHEN  POOR  MARY  CAME  WANDERING  HOME 

Thw  too  was  heard  from  Scnour  at  Indiana  University  on  the  evening  told  of  in  the  note  to 
"Who  Will  Shoe  Your  Pretty  Little  Foot?"  It  is  a  fragment,  a  little  make-over,  from  the  mawkish 
popular  song,  "Mary  of  the  Wild  Moor."  The  mother  of  Senour  sang  it  often.  A  wisp  of  melody, 

it  is,  five  brief  lines  as  implicative  as  a  Chinese  poem. 

L.  S. 


LLtfL  *  *  -4-  J  1  Ji  -j*_ 

1  j  -r  pi  -j*  j 

&?4~  v~-~-  *  --*  —     *         J  «  *  — 

_«J  E  «  J  *    _    J 

It         was         on             a           cold          win   -   ter's      night                     When      poor 

&\vf                           '                           mt*^               *                       J          ---'-' 

j-j^  _  —  _ 

—  H    -      "1 

ft  IT  •  ^f.         "JJT           ~  ~  '   &     '       1               '          ~  *               ..  ^  —                  '        • 

-J..  —  — 

_.      .   .  .  .9  —  j 

•  T             i                 1              "  ""'   —  •         *                                                                              J^1J_ 

LilMMMMj                                       ***"                                                                                                                                                                       *^ 

U_  gg,  

•  H 

V^U.«            |R                                                 bjJJJ                                                         _j 

r^H?                                   1 

J.J   - 

* 


Ma   -  ry    came  wan  -  der  -  ing  home.  And    the  watch -dog    did  howl,    And    the 


vil  -  lagc  bell    did    toll,  And    the  wind  blew    a  -  cross   the    wild  moor. 

_  J _! J__J J 1 L 


It  was  on  a  cold  winter's  night 

When  poor  Mary  came  wandering  home. 

And  the  watch-dog  did  howl, 

And  the  village  bell  did  toll, 

And  the  wind  blew  across  the  wild  moor. 


466 


ROAD  TO  HEAVEN 


JESUS,  WON'T  YOU  COME  B'M-BY? 

DESE   BONES    GWINE   TO   RISE   AGAIN      . 

TWO  WHITE   HORSES 

WAY  OVER   IN   THE   NEW   BURYIN*  GROUN*  . 
MARY   WORE   THREE   LINKS   OF   CHAIN 

PHARAOH'S  ARMY  GOT  DROWNDKD 

GOOD-BYE  BROTHER 

GOD'S  GOIN'  TO  SET  THIS  WORLD  ON  FIRE 

AIN*  GO'N*  TO   STUDY    WAR    NO   MO* 

THINGS  I  USED  TO  DO 

IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE        . 

STANDIN*  ON    THE    WALLS   OF    ZION 

A    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO  . 

YOU   GOT   TO   CROSS   IT   FOH    YOHHELF   . 

I   GOT   A    LETTER   FROM   JESUS 

ECEKIEL,  YOU    AND    ME 


HARMONIZATION  BY 

Charles  FanceU  Ed  son 
Hilbert  G.  Stewart  . 
Alfred  0.  Wathall  . 
Alfred  G.  Watliall  . 
Leo  Sower  by    . 
Leo  Soircrby    . 

Leo  Sowcrby    . 
Leo  Sotrerby    . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 
Leo  Sourrby    . 
Hazel  F elm  an 
Alfred  G.  Waihall  . 
Alfred  «.  Wathnll  . 
Alfred  G.  Wathall  . 


PAQB 

469 
470 
47S 
478 
474 
476 
477 
478 
480 
482 
483 
484 
485 
486 
487 
48S 


467 


JESUS,  WON'T  YOU  COME  B'M-BY? 

One  of  the  lasting  creations  of  the  negro  of  slave  days. 


Arr.  C.  F.  E. 


-lJ-     J1-  Jt 


You  ride  dat  horse,  you  call  him  Macadoni ;  Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm- 


7T1ZIZ7  ^f^  "~~" ' v  r._*  n  n 


»-J       1    J 


by?     You  ride  him  in  demornin'And  you  ride  him  in  dc  eve-nin';  Jesus,  won  *t  you  come  b'm- 


f 


TIT  ~~r  rzjrriimrm 


^ 


by?       De    Lord  knows  de  world's  gwine  to  end  up,  Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm-by  ?  De    by? 

r— i r-a- 


=3t 


^^ 


You  ride  dat  horse, 
You  call  him  Macadoni; 
Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm-by? 
You  ride  him  in  de  mornin' 
And  you  ride  him  in  de  evening 


Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm-by? 

De  Lord  knows  de  world's  gwine  to  end  up, 

Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm-by? 

De  Lord  knows  de  world's  gwine  to  end  up, 

Jesus,  won't  you  come  b'm-by? 

460 


DESE  BONES  GWINE  TO  RISE  AGAIN 


A  retold  story  of  the  First  Man,  the  First  Woman,  and  the  events  of  their  Paradise  Lost.  It 
is  cornic,  paradoxical,  mystic,  in  the  manner  of  some  of  the  tumultuous  imagery  hurled  forth  from 
"God's  Trombones"  as  written  by  James  Weldon  Johnson.  Two  or  three  generations  of  white 
j>eople  have  cherished  this  creation  of  the  Dark  Brother.  I  have  heard  it  in  cities  and  on  farms, 
in  factories  and  pitching  hay.  For  assistance  in  the  text  we  are  indebted  to  Lloyd  Lewis,  the 
Free  Quaker.  The  harmonization  is  by  Hilbert  G.  Stewart,  a  young  colored  composer,  of  Chicago. 

Air.  H.  G.  S. 


m 


IP 


Lord,  he  thought  he'd  make  a    man, 


Dese  bones  gwine    to      rise        a  -  gain; 


i J=FF 

tZs  •     .. ..  7m~ '. [    ^j 

& — f — » *f3~ 


rHK- y — ^p 


^ 


f 


=w== 


r 


=M»M!=^>|j^=feai 


^:=pc=: 


Made  him  out  of  mud  and  a    lit  -  tie  bit  of  sand,         Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise      a  -  gain. 


^-aLzr:.Tir..j::'  ~\  1 1-"~.  j  "     -  J 


3 


rri^-Ud 


HRPRAIN.     Irniito 


I        know  it,       Mood   I    know  it,     Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise      a  -  gain. 


470 


DESE  BONES  GWINE  TO  RISE  AGAIN 


I  Lord,  he  thought  he'd  make  a  man, 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Made  him  out  of  mud  and  a  little  bit  of  sand, 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

Refrain: 

1  know  it,  'deed  I  know  it, 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

fc  "Adam,  Adam,  where  art  thou?" 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
"Here,  Marsc  Lord,  I'se  comin*  down." 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

5  Thought  he'd  make  a  woman  too; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Didn't  know  "xactly  what  to  do. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

4  Took  a  rib  from  Adam's  side; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Made  Miss  Eve  for  to  be  his  bride. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

5  Put  'em  in  a  garden  rich  an'  fair; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Tole  Vrn  to  eat  what  they  found  dere. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

G  To  one  tall  tree  dey  mus*  not  go; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Dere  mus*  de  fruit  forever  grow. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

7  OF  Miss  Eve  come  a-walkin*  roun'; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Spied  dat  tree  all  loaded  down. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

8  Sarpent  he  came  roun*  de  trunk. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
At  Miss  Eve  his  eye  he  wunk. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 


9  Firs*  she  took  a  little  pull; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Den  she  filled  her  apron  full. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

10  Adam  he  come  prowlin'  roun'; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Spied  dem  peelin's  on  de  groun*. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

11  Den  he  took  a  little  slice; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Smack  his  lips  an*  said  'twas  nice. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

12  Lord,  he  spoke  with  a  mighty  voice. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Shook  de  heavens  to  dc  joists. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

13  "Adam!  Adam!  Where  ane  thou?" 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 

44  Yes,  Marse  Lord,  I'se  a-comin*  now." 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

14  "You  et  my  apples,  I  believe?" 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
"Not  me,  Lord,  but  I  'spec  'twas  Eve/ 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

15  Lord  den  rose  up  in  his  wrath; 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again; 
Tole  'em  beat  it  down  de  path. 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

16  "Out  of  my  garden  you  mus'  git/* 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again, 
"For  you  an'  me  has  got  to  quit." 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 

Refrain: 

I  know  it,  'deed  I  know  it, 
Dese  bones  gwine  to  rise  again. 


471 


TWO  WHITE  HORSES 


The  white  horses  go  in  a  sort  of  hoof -beat  time;  the  "rassling"  of  Zekl  with  sin  is  swift  and 
dexterous,  as  also  is  his  entrance  into  "heb'n. "  It  is  one  of  the  gayer  and  more  accelerated  spirituals, 
and  was  heard  by  Dr.  Ernest  Horn,  head  of  the  College  of  Education,  University  of  Iowa,  when  a 

boy  in  Missouri. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Moderate  . >, 


* 


-* — * — *- 


Two  white  hors-es,  two  white  hors-es,  Side  by 


mf)  Accentuate  tempre 

' 


feia^E 
±;rj  .-ztrEr: 


f=f=nnrr 


Staccato 


*• 


=39 


side; 


Two  white  hors-es,  two  while  hors-es,  Side  by  side: 


Two  white 


^^^ 


D.C. 


i 


hors-es,  two  white  hors-es.  Side  by  side;      No  bod-y  can  ride,      but  thesanc-ti-fied. 


9*99. 


D.C. 


TWO  WHITE  HORSES 


Daniel  was  a  man,  Daniel  was  a  man, 

In  de  lion's  den; 

Daniel  was  a  man,  Daniel  was  a  man, 

In  de  lion's  den; 

Daniel  was  a  man,  Daniel  was  a  man, 

In  de  lion's  den; 

De  good  Lawd  proved  to  be  Daniel's  frien'. 


3  Zek'l  was  a  man,  Zek'l  was  a  man, 
And  he  rassled  wid  sin; 
Zek'l  was  a  man,  Zek'l  was  a  man, 
And  he  rassled  wid  sin; 
Zek'l  was  a  man,  Zek'l  was  a  man, 
And  he  rassled  wid  sin; 
Heb'n  gate  opened,  and  he  rolled  right  in. 


WAY  OVER  IN  THE  NEW  BURYIN'  GROUN' 

This  negro  spiritual  to  be  heard  on  the  coast  of  Georgia  is  from  a  series  of  negro  spirituals  re- 
corded on  phonograph  cylinders  for  the  extensive  collection  of  R.  W.  Gordon.  The  time  of  it  goes 
a  little  as  though  one  heard  a  distinct  hammering  of  curious  incessancy. 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


Con  moto 


The  hammer  keeps  a-ring-in'     on  some-bod  -  y's  cof  -  fin,    The  hammer  keeps  a  ring-in*    on 


:qr 


r^=r=:q- 


=£ 


=^E=E^ 


::£-- 


rit. 


^E±E 


^ 


some -bod    -   y's     cof  -  fin,  Way  o  -  vcr     in     the   new  bur  -  yin*  groun*. 


poco  f 


3E2 


rit. 


£ 


-M L 


Somebody's  dying  way  over  yonder, 
Somebody's  dying  way  over  yonder, 
Way  over  in  the  new  buryin'  groun'. 

473 


MARY  WORE  THREE  LINKS  OF  CHAIN 


One  of  the  sublime  creations  of  the  negro  race  in  America.  . 
tinted  with  shadings  of  the  light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea.  . 
"woh,"  and  so  on. 


mystic,  simple,  poetic,  elusive, 
.  ."I'm"  is  "Ahm,"  "wore"  is 

Arr.  L.  S. 


Ma  -  ry   wore three  links  of  chain,. 


& 


Ma-ry 


pf~T 


Ljferi 


E^ 


wore three  links  of     chain,. 


Ma  -  ry  wore  three  links  of 


E^E^^EE^iSSi 


T 


chain,    Ev  - 'ry   link  bear -in*  Je  -  sus*  name;  All    my  sins  been  tak- en   a -way,. 


474 


MARY  WORE  THREE  LINKS  OF  CHAIN 


i 


tak  -  en    a    -    way. 


i 
i 


i 


2  Mary  weeped  and  Martha  mourned, 
Mary  weej>ed  and  Martha  mourned, 
Mary  weeped  and  Martha  mourned, 
Gabriel  stood  and  bio  wed  his  horn; 
All  my  sins  been  taken  away,  taken  away. 

8  I  don't  know  but  I've  been  told, 
I  don't  know  but  I've  been  told, 
I  don't  know  but  I've  been  told, 
The  streets  in  heaven  are  paved  with  gold; 
All  my  sins  been  taken  away,  taken  away. 

4  Can't  you  hear  dem  horses'  feet? 
Can't  you  hear  dem  horses'  feet? 
Can't  you  hear  dem  horses'  feet 
Slippin'  and  slidin*  on  de  golden  street? 
All  my  sins  been  taken  away,  taken  away. 

5  My  feet  got  wet  in  de  midnight  dew, 
My  feet  got  wet  in  de  midnight  dew, 
My  feet  got  wet  in  de  midnight  dew, 
An*  de  mornin'  star  was  a  witness  too; 
All  my  sins  been  taken  away,  taken  away. 

6  I'm  go'n  home  on  de  mornin'  train, 
I'm  go'n  home  on  de  mornin'  train, 
I'm  go'n  home  on  de  mornin'  train, 
All  don't  see  me  go'n  to  hear  me  sing: 
All  my  sina  been  taken  away,  taken  away. 


475 


PHARAOH'S  ARMY  GOT  DROWNDED 


Arr.  L.  S. 


Slowly 


If     I     could   I   sure  -  ly  would    Stan'  on  de  rock  where  Mos-es  stood,    Pharaoh's 


i 


if 


tt=W- 


•-4-— -4: -i      I       — f-  | 

""w  -  —  --•*• --         |     -4-       -^ti          ^    ~~^ 

u    ^-^       ,  1 -••  9  •^^x v 


i        i 


^3=& 


*  ?'  T: :p      f : 


fL 


JT       FL 


IJ7- 


4- 


ar    -    my  got  drown-fled.      O     Ma    -    ry,      don'  you  weep, don"  you  rao'n 0 

|-~ 


,&*-*  -^'  -+-f^L 
chrr.rtr  ~TT  "t--'u-^tr*~ 

:^^:^jii,;-   ^n  • 

-P,11,     if^^m  .a,,  * 

"»  —  s:  —  i  1  —  i 
hT-P—  ^*  *—  J- 

Vl7  t           "     «^     i^ 

€T 

tV  -Jr  "w   I            pr-i  »          i         ^    ^    *      w    \?    * 

Ma  -  ry,...  don'  you  weep,  don'  you  mo'n,  0  Ma  -  ry,  don'  you  weep,  don'  you  mo'n,Pharaoh's 

~e~b    1  j 

i    1         L             I      I                     i 

.  ...^«i  ...-.-  —  ^i  —  —  — 

—  «  —  ^i  — 

j^  ^4  '•' 

wwr^i~-£  

-&1       \     Z  '  

L£J  1  LM  1 

^ 


476 


PHARAOH'S  ARMY  GOT  DROWNDED 


f 


ar    -    my  got  drown-ded.      O     Ma  -  ry,. . . .  don 'you  weep,  don' you  mo'n! 


1  If  I  could  I  surely  would 
Stan*  on  de  rock  where  Moses  stood. 
Pharaoh's  array  got  drownded, 
O  Mary,  don*  you  weep,  don*  you  mo'n. 
O  Mary,  don*  you  weep,  don'  you  mo'n. 
O  Mary,  don'  you  weep,  don*  you  mo'n. 
Pharaoh's  army  got  drownded. 
O  Mary,  don'  you  weep,  don*  you  mo'n. 


Some  o'  these  nights  about  twelve  o'clock 

Dis  oP  worP  gwine  to  reel  an*  rock. 

Pharaoh's  army  got  drownded, 

O  Mary,  don'  you  weep,  don'  you  mo'n. 

O  Mary,  don'  you  weep,  don'  you  mo'n. 

O  Mary,  don'  you  weop,  don'  you  mo'n. 

Pharaoh's  army  got  drowndcd. 

O  Mary,  don'  you  weep,  don*  you  mo'n. 


GOOD-BYE,  BROTHER 


J— J— 3— L-H^^E^=g 


^ 


Good-bye,    broth-er,    good-bye,    broth -er,        If      I      don't    see     you    more; 


Now    God  bless    you,    now    God   bless  you,       If       I     don't      see    you    more. 


2  We  part  in  de  body,  but  we  meet  in  de  spirit, 
If  I  don't  see  you  more; 

We'll  meet  in  de  heaben,  in  de  blessed  kingdom, 
If  I  don't  see  you  more. 

8  So  good-bye  brother,  good-bye  sister, 
If  I  don't  see  you  more; 
Now  God  bless  you,  now  God  bless  you, 
If  I  don't  see  you  more. 


477 


GOD'S  COIN1  TO  SET  THIS  WORLD  ON  FIRE 


The  I.  W.  W.  (Industrial  Workers  of  the  World)  nailed  the  word  "Solidarity"  high  and  issued 
a  call  for  "One  Big  Union."  It  shouted,  "Workers  of  the  world,  unite!  You  have  nothing  to  lose 
but  your  chains.  You  have  a  world  to  win."  Those  with  red  cards  of  membership  were  "  wob- 
blies."  They  belonged  in  "jungles,"  camps  and  hobo  hangouts  near  railroads.  They  were  out- 
laws, gypsies,  vags.  Several  times  they  wrecked  jails,  tore  the  doors  off  hinges,  twisted  the  bars, 
spoiled  the  plumbing,  and  defied  all  law  and  government.  While  in  jail  they  often  made  the  walls 
ring  with  a  negro  spiritual  given  here.  Their  favorite  verse  was  "God's  Goin'  to  Set  This  World 
on  Fire."  It  suggests  Fire  wrecking  the  world  as  the  I.  W.  W.'s  wrecked  jails  .  .  .  The  text  B 
l>elow  is  from  Arthur  Billings  Hunt  of  Brooklyn,  New  York,  who  heard  it  from  a  group  of  negroes 
in  a  Virginia  farm  house  five  years  ago, 

AIT.  L.  S. 


:£Ef«Efe^ 


God' 


goin'  to    set     this  world  on       fire,  . 


TStl 


God's 


in'  to 


az»--»-.--Efia-S-~3r_i 
rt^=^-*> F 


set     this    world      on      fire,       One      o'   these        days! 

!j^S=E=^ 


God's  goin'   to 


IZFS-^iZ 

I e?— .:-  -' 


set     this  world     on      fire, 


One     o*  these        ays! 


478 


GOD'S  GOW  TO  SET  THIS  WORLD  ON  FIRE 

A 

1  God's  goin*  to  set  this  world  on  fire, 
God's  goin'  to  set  this  world  on  fire, 
One  o'  these  days! 

God's  goin'  to  set  this  world  on  fire, 
One  o"  these  days! 

2  I'm  goin'  to  walk  an*  talk  with  Jesus, 
I'm  goin'  to  walk  an*  talk  with  Jesus, 
One  o'  these  days! 

I'm  goin'  to  walk  an'  talk  with  Jesus, 
One  o'  these  days! 

3  I'm  goin'  to  climb  up  Jacob's  ladder, 
I'm  goin*  to  climb  up  Jacob's  ladder, 
One  o'  these  days! 

I'm  goin'  to  climb  up  Jacob's  ladder, 
One  o'  these  days! 

4  All  you  sinners  gonna  turn  up  missing, 
All  you  sinners  gonna  turn  up  missing, 
One  o'  these  days! 

All  you  sinners  gonna  turn  up  missing, 
One  o'  these  days! 


B 

1  God  don't  want  no  coward  soldiers, 
God  don't  want  no  coward  soldiers, 

Some  o'  these  days. 
He  wants  valiant  hearted  soldiers 
Some  o'  these  days. 

2  We  arc  clirnbin'  Jacob's  ladder, 
We  arc  climbin'  Jacob's  ladder, 

Some  o'  these  days. 
Every  round  goes  higher  and  higher, 
Some  o'  these  days. 


479 


AIN'   GO'N'  TO  STUDY  WAR  NO  MO' 


Among  spirituals  used  by  negroes  as  work  songs  this  is  to  be  mentioned.  "They  sing  it  by  the 
hour,"  fttudents  at  the  University  of  Alabama  told  me,  referring  to  "Am'  GoV  to  Study  War  No 
MoV  As  they  go  on,  hour  by  hour,  they  bring  in  lines  from  many  other  spirituals.  The  tempo 
is  vital,  never  actually  monotonous,  never  ecstatic,  yet  steady  in  its  onflow,  sure  of  its  pulses.  It  is 
a  work  song-spiritual.  War  is  pronounced  "wah"  or  "waw"  as  if  to  rhyme  with  "saw."  Horse 
is  "hawsH."  And  so  on  with  negro  economy  of  vocables  in  speech  and  song. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


^  1  H*t^  ^"-33^-=3F=z£=* 


:^rt:-.-_-J;:J:: 


£^ 


^E 


ifcc 


-*       * 


ipi 


I'm     go'n'    to      lay     down     my     sword  and  shield,       I'm    go'n'    to      lay   down 


*e 


'n 


5  f  "  f 

"•i|-.-~7Zj^: 


S 


-J.- 


:r 


^ 


u^- 


:g^rr^g=y 


-|TJ^=zj^j^rj^:^^=J 
:     r'        ,  zr        iz^3 


my   sword  and  shield,    Down    by     de     rib  -  her  -  side,  down     by     de       rib  -ber-  side, 


£: 


. 


i 


:£E£EE£ 


J=q= 


I'm  go'n*  to    lay  down  my  sword  and  shield.      I      ain'  go'n'  to  stu  -  dy   war   no    mo', 


f 


r 


d ^1.   J J     _  | 


r 


480 


ADT  GO'N'  TO  STUDY  WAR  NO  MO* 


JfVy>   f  —  f  —  f  —  f  —  f  —  f"*~  "f  T  f  f  —  ~P  F  —  p—  ar—  ITU:  TT  —  :ir~ 

.  ..jp  —  —  B  —  j 

§)*?  u   u   u   u  u  r—  E  —  f  —  P  —  i—  f  —  (:   p  -giz^-p=p- 

I     ain'  go  V  to  stu-dy     war    no     mo',    I     ain*  go'n'  to  stu-dy     war     no 

-f—  ^-H 

mo',    I 

I                i                   1               J                        !                1 

"l 

'    Jl  .  K  p  ^  ^  Qj  ^^^  f"S  "54*?"         '~    ^*       

&]|"j?  —  <Sr3             -  S—    —  c^?  —  -         -  1  25  —  ^^  _  ,_)  c/^  

g        .  .] 

y2    x     F-    «f*  r  *  r  *  r     *  r  *  r 

x  r 

i                 i         !         J        <J            J         J 

1          . 

|5&-t&-*«j.  -  .  —  —  a*-    -  -U?*1                        -  -J4-/3"  _     ~  .    „  -'.  .-.rt?%a-_--.-;: 

~  ~  _^   j 

.'..-..  .  ".Tr.-.:-/   1 

-^T                                                                          -^T 

ty  .  C  D                                                        ^                                                                               1 

•••  •  •  -n 

.-_—   |] 

\y       i        i^     w     i^                       i 

ain'     go'n'     to      stu  -  dy        war          no            mo'. 

/Pb^k         rJ  "              ^      j..........  _^  --               .|_.            ..       .  ...  . 

-••E^"  —   H 

*    r       *    f  *T  ?f  ^  x  f  ^  x; 

-^ 

^!_^.^.  ^j                                                       ^^         ..                      G*>                 I    _     ,-r^                                -I         ,,^)^ 

**>  —   I! 

V^p^  1  _  —  1  1  »~    -     -      ~     -              |     •»  ..  - 

11 

""""""                                                        L^-  r                                   ,L«-  j_^^ 

•o-               r         r- 

—  -xSz 

1  Pm  go'n*  to  lay  down  my  sword  and  shield,  I'm  go'n'  to  lay  down  my  sword  and  shield, 
Down  by  dc  ribber-side,  down  by  de  ribber-side,    I'm  go'n'  to  lay  down  my  sword  and  shield. 

I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo',  I  ain'  go'n*  to  study  war  no  mo', 
I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo',  I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo'. 

2  I'm  go'n'  to  ride  on  a  milk-white  horse,  I'm  go'n'  to  ride  on  a  milk-white  horse, 

Down  by  de  ribber-side,  down  by  de  ribber-side,  I'm  go'n'  to  ride  on  a  milk-white  horse. 
I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo',  I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo', 
I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo',  I  ain'  go'n'  to  study  war  no  mo*. 

8  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  starry  crown,  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  starry  crown, 

Down  by  de  ribber-side,  down  by  de  ribber-side,  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  starry  crown. 

4  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  snow-white  robe,  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  snow-white  robe, 

Down  by  de  ribber-side,  down  by  de  ribber-side,  I'm  go'n'  to  wear  a  snow-white  robe. 

5  I'm  go'n*  to  ride  with  my  King  Jesus,  I'm  go'n'  to  ride  with  my  King  Jesus, 
Down  by  de  ribber-side,  down  by  de  ribber-side,  I'm  go'n'  to  ride  with  my  King  Jesus. 

481 


THINGS  I  USED  TO  DO 

Texas  camp  meetings  have  heard  these  testimonies  of  an  old  way  of  life  abandoned  and  a  new 
one  adopted.  Aw  A  r  w 

AJT •  f\»  VJT.    YT  . 

M oderalo,  U  tempo  molto  rubato  MMmt  a  tempo 


jPlmu  J  ^—f  —  fcr^M- 

—  K    iir~  —  K  —  „;.*  —  ,  ^ 

'-  ^7       Jt   J     " 

UhliLJ^fc  j:  —  *b  —  J*-+~3 
Things      I    used      to     do 

>|^,....J,r         J~  .J  -^  

I   don't    do      no    mo',          '. 

*.~!"      •    ,.,.  .,,  4    -* 

-JLj:  J  £-2  J!__£  
flings      I      used      to    do 

tT"                     -gr 

mf  Colla  voce 

^^  ...  ,   ,-•  .-,=,^4  ti 

^y  ^                                          .  ~ 

~izr 

«•/ 

STrfTttuS  —  5?  F 

-^<^                                       1^ 

_L^:  -tp.  _  — 

Fife  1 

S^JI^  

-fe  b>  —  *— 

J£^  —  ^__^  —  341  ! 

acr.fl. 


n  tempo 


I   don't    do      no     mo',          Things      I      used     to    do        I    don't    do    no      mo', 


accrl. 


rit. 


There's  been      a      great  *     change    since     I        been  bohn. 


i 


IK 


^^j: 


I 


£  Chickens  I  used  to  steal,  I  don't  steal  no  mo',  (3  times) 
There's  been  a  great  change  since  I  been  bohn. 

3  Whisky  I  used  to  drink,  I  don't  drink  no  mo',  (3  time*) 
There's  been  a  great  change  since  I  been  bohn. 

48* 


IN  MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE 


This  spiritual  comes  from  negroes  of  Fort  Worth,  Texas,  through  the  medium  of  Jake  Zeitlin, 
a  poet  who  used  to  send  me  each  year  a  horned  toad  from  the  Great  Staked  Plains.  The  list  of 
voccupations  named  in  these  verses  can  be  extended  according  to  desire  or  whim. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

(Spoken)  ^ 


There    ain'       no        li      -      ars    there          In      my         Fa  -  ther's   house; 


There 


<f=f=f=^_ 


* 


ain'     no      li    -    ars  there      In    my      Fa  -  ther's  house. 

4jg: £ 


Ain'    no      li  -  ars    there, 


— —  j~^~~^— — : 


]  — -zrrr,".'    fP      j 

i  —       -,„,-„_    ~>~<  --in^      ~j 


3 


In      my      Fa  -  ther's  house; 


O  there's  peace,     peace,    ev  -  'ry  -  where! 


2  There  ain'  no  crapshooters  there  In  my  Father's  house.  (3  times] 
O  there's  peace,  peace,  everywhere ! 

3  There  ain*  no  cardplayers  there  In  my  Father's  house.  (3  times) 
O  there's  peace,  peace,  ev'ry where! 

483 


STANDIN'  ON  THE  WALLS  OF  ZION 

The  barber  shop  harmonizers  of  midwest  towns  used  to  make  up  their  own  melodies  and  then 
mix  in  the  words.  In  Galcsburg,  boys  from  the  Q.  railroad  shops,  from  Colton's  foundry  and  the 
Purington  brickyards,  would  meet  in  front  of  Brown's  hotel  or  the  Union  hotel,  practice  with  their 
voices  as  they  strolled  off  Main  Street,  and  then  make  the  rounds  of  the  ice-cream  "sociables"  held 
by  various  churches  on  a  summer  evening.  Some  boys  would  find  the  girls  they  were  looking  for. 
Others  stayed  with  the  bunch  and  sang.  One  of  the  favorite  pieces,  about  the  time  of  the  Chicago 

anarchist  case,  was  this  white  man's  spiritual. 

Arr.  L.  S. 


™       i 


Then  it's  a    hoo  -  raw,  and   a  hoo  -  raw,  Thru  the 


mer  -  ry  green  fields,hoo  -  raw! 

. 
-*• 


{,&--:  — 


' 3?  \1Sfr 


Stand-in'  on   thcwiills   of     Zi  -  on,     Zi  -on,   S«'c  my  ship  come   sail  -  in',  sail  -  in', 


Stand-in' on  the  walls  of     Zi  -   on,     See  my  ship  come  sail     -    in'     home.     .     .     . 


@§?i^= 


i 


Then  it's  a  hooraw,  and  a  hooraw, 
Thru  the  merry  green  fields,  hooraw! 
Standin*  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  Zion, 
See  my  ship  come  sailin',  sailin', 
Standin'  on  the  walls  of  Zion, 
See  my  ship  come  sailin'  home. 


484 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 


The  high  and  prolonged  declaration  of  a  heart  wanting  to  be  home,  having  been  away  so  long* 
yet  it  has  a  sea  health.  Wilbert  Snow,  the  Maine  poet  who  sailed  before  the  mast  when  young  and 
husky,  knew  this  as  a  windlass  song.  ...  Air  and  accompaniment  run  without  strict  regard  to 
rhythm.  ...  as  a  meditation.  .  .  .  and  of  varied  pulses. 


With  deliberation 


Arr.  H.  P. 


3fc=* 


A  hun-dred  years  is     a    vc-rylong  time,        Oh, 


yes!    oh, 


P 


(con  Sri  tempre) 


hun-dred  years    is      a      ve  -  ry  long  time,     A         hun-dred  years         a  -   go. 


1  A  hundred  years  is  a  very  long  time, 

Oh,  yes,  oh. 

A  hundred  years  is  a  very  long  time, 
A  hundred  years  ago. 


A  hundred  years  have  passed  and  gone, 

Oh,  yes,  oh. 
A  hundred  years  have  passed  and  gone, 

A  hundred  years  ago. 


3  A  hundred  years  will  come  once  more, 

Oh,  yes,  oh. 

A  hundred  years  will  come  once  more, 
A  hundred  years  ago. 


YOU  GOT  TO  CROSS  IT  FOH  YOHSELF 


This  spiritual  from  the  negroes  of  Texas,  is  a  contemplation,  a  prayer,  and  an  outcry. 

AIT.  A.  G.  W. 

Tempo  rubaln 


You  got  to  cross  that  Riv-er      Jor  -  dan,  You  got  to  cross  it . 

*b  "  ^ 


foh  yoh -self; 


m/^      Cotta  voce 


JM5 


E£ 


p 


/is 
£3. 


irr4?L_tir 


^?; 


::f* .  ij  —  . — *-&— 
^::^-.-_^.-^ 


O      there  cuin't   no-hod-y     cross   it        foh   you;       You   got  to  cross   it....   foh  yoh-self, 


._;       ->   ^ 

?:lt^j( 


ES 

/TV 

TS1 


s^ 

Cain't  yoh  bro-thah      cross   it      foh  you,        You    got    to  cross  it  foh  yoh  -  self. 


rr\ 


i 


1  You  got  to  cross  that  River  Jordan, 
You  got  to  cross  it  foh  yohself ; 
O  there  cain't  nobody  cross  it  foh  you; 
You  got  to  cross  it  foh  yohself, 
Cain't  yoh  brothah  cross  it  foh  you, 
You  got  to  cross  it  foh  yohself. 


You  got  to  stand  that  test  of  judgment, 
You  got  to  stand  it  foh  yohself; 
O  there  cain't  nobody  stand  it  foh  you; 
You  got  to  stand  it  foh  yohself, 
Cain't  yoh  pahson  stand  it  foh  you, 
You  got  to  stand  it  foh  yohself. 


48* 


I  GOT  A  LETTER  FROM  JESUS 


This  may  be  heard  on  Lang  Syne  Plantation,  Fort  Motte,  South  Carolina.  It  is  sometimes 
sung  by  sinners  or  worldly  negroes  to  persuade  church  members  that  they  too  shall  receive  salvation 
at  the  Throne  of  Grace. 


Arr.  A.  G.  W. 


mf)    Modrrato 


«r  j  «r  «r 


X— 


I     got  a  let  -  ter  from  Je  -  sus,         Ahah, 


ahali! 


I     got  a    let-ter, 


:ja: 


i 


3ii£ 


-i- 


I      got  a    let-ter,  I     got    a  let  -  ter  from  Je  -  sus,        'Mm, —        'Mrn. — 


i 


I  got  a  letter  from  Jesus, 
Ahah,  ahah! 

I  got  a  letter,  I  got  a  letter, 
I  got  a  letter  from  Jesus, 
'Mm,—  'Mm.— 


487 


EZEKIEL,  YOU  AND  ME 


The  author's  arrangement  of  lines  and  airs  from  five  negro  spirituals  that  have  for  many  years 
given  musical  enjoyment  and  spiritual  sustenance,  with  harmonization  by  Alfred  G.  Wathall. 

Arr.  A.  G.  W. 

Mafttoto  e  religioto  mf  —  =r 


—  Hh 


zstzzat 


wheel,      Ez  -  e  -  k'l  saw  dc      wheel,  'Way    up    in    de    mid-die  of  de  air.        De 


SZLl^E 


ap 


•<*> 


3=3^' 


big  wheel  move  by  faith; 
mf>  -(     - 


DC    lit-tle  wheel  move  by  de  grace  of  God;    A    wheel    in      a 
?* 


488 


E2EKIEL,  YOU  AND  ME 


m/ 


1 


wheel,  'Way   up     in   de  mid-die  of  de  air. 


A  wheel  in      a   wheel, 
If* 


«— r- 


coZ/a 


s^t 


poco  ritardando  sff 


rftm  0  rtl.     zn: 


wheel    in      a    wheel,         Lz-e-k'l  saw    de  wheel,    'Way    up    in  de  raid-die  of  de  air. 

j   i        i        ^        I 


poco  /*    tost.    —  —m 


ot>//a  rorc 


*      Q   ^^ 


=3q 


2    Con  vio/o 


Keep    a  -  inch- in, '_          keep     a  -  inch  -  in,' 


Je  -  su 


sus    will  come  by  and 


t 

Inch  by    inch,         inch    by  inch 


Like    a     po'      inch 


jr^-^t- 

tf     *  "p^    - 

pororii.      n= 


piu  lento 


^^ 


'•        1 


489 


EZEKIEL,  YOU  AND  ME 


poco  rU. 


3  m/ 


J. 


worm, 


Je  -  sus     will  come  by    and     by. 


It's      me, 


O 


colla  voce 


tranquillo 


BS 


Lord; 


it's    me,  it's  mo,  It's   me,  0  Lord;  Stand-in*  in  de  need  of 


m/ 


P^aa*. 
^ 


P^3 

4 _f__ — 


«PP 


*$= 


poro  ri<. 


^ 


prayer;       It's    me,      it's      me,      it's     me,         O     Lord;  Stand-in' in   de  need  of 


E^i          * ^ *—Uby       I        — [ 


cre». 


^s^; 


4  m/  3/o/to  (tt'librrato 


. 


prayer. 


Chill  -  y      wa  -  ter,    chill  -  y    wa  -  ter,      Hal  -  le  -  lu  -  jah      to  dat 


490 


BZBKIBL,  YOU  AND  MB 


Lamb! 


^  *"r~       ~^* 

I      know    dat    wa  -  ter  am    chill  -y     and    cold,   And  a    Hal-le- 


lu  -  jali    to  dat    Lamb ! 


moun      -      tain, 


pray    -        -    in',     in       de        val      -      ley, 


1s?- 

r 


-& 

£= 


mf) 


-* — •- 


We're  go'n  to    reap jus'   what  we      sow,. 


0      =r        ^  VJ  J  . 


491 


EZEKIEL,  YOU  AND  MB 


Ho      -      pin'  on    de    moun    -    tain,. 


ho 


pin*  in    de 


val    -    ley,. 


I'm  go'n  to  reap jits' what  I        sow. 


1  Ezck'l  saw  dc  wheel,  Ezek'l  saw  de  wheel, 
'Way  up  in  de  middle  of  de  air. 

De  big  wheel  move  by  faith; 

De  little  wheel  move  by  de  grace  of  God; 

A  wheel  in  a  wheel, 

'Way  up  in  de  middle  of  de  air. 

A  wheel  in  a  wheel,  a  wheel  in  a  wheel, 

Ezek'l  saw  de  wheel, 

'Way  up  in  de  middle  of  de  air. 

2  Keep  a-inchin',  keep  a-5nchin*, 
Jesus  will  come  by  and  by; 
Inch  by  inch,  inch  by  inch, 
Like  a  po*  inch  worm, 

Jesus  will  come  by  and  by. 


3  It's  me,  O  Lord;  it's  me,  it's  me, 
It's  me,  0  Lord; 

Standin'  in  de  need  of  prayer; 
It's  me,  it's  me,  it's  me,  O  Lord; 
Standin'  in  de  need  of  prayer. 

4  Chilly  water,  chilly  water, 
Hallelujah  to  dat  Lamb! 

I  know  dat  water  am  chilly  and  cold, 
And  a  Hallelujah  to  dat  Lamb! 

5  Prayin'  on  de  mountain,  prayin'  in  de  valley* 
We're  go'n  to  reap  jus'  what  we  sow; 
Hopin'  on  de  mountain,  hopin'  in  de  valley, 
I'm  go'n  to  reap  jus'  what  I  sow. 


492 


INDEX 


Abalone,  338 

Abdul,  the  Bulbul  Ameer,  344 

Across  the  Western  Ocean,  412 

Adelita,  300 

Ain'  Go'n'  to  Study  War  No  Me/,  480 

Ain't  Gonna  Rain,  141 

Alice  B.,  28 

All  Night  Long.  448 

Animal  Fair,  348 

A.  R.  U.,  190 

As  I  Walked  Out  in  the  Streets  of  Laredo,  263 

As  I  Was  Walkin'  Down  Wexford  Street.  35 

Ballet  of  De  Boll  Weevil,  252 

Banks  of  Sacramento,  The,  112 

Barbra  Allen,  57 

Been  in  the  Pen  So  Long,  220 

Bigerlow,  174 

Bird  in  a  Cage,  213 

Blind  Man  Lay  Beside  the  Way,  452 

Blow  the  Man  Down,  404 

Boll  Weevil  Song,  8 

Bolsum  Brown,  355 

Boy  He  Had  an  Auger,  A,  343 

Brady,  198 

Brown  Girl,  The,  156 

Buffalo  Skinners,  The,  270 

By'm  By,  453 

California,  110 

Calliope,  349 

Cap'n  I  Believe,  363 

Careless  Love,  21 

Casey  Jones,  366 

C.  C.  Rider,  246 

Chahcoal  Man,  459 

Chicken  Reel,  116 

Cielito  Lindo,  298 

Cigarettes  Will  Spoil  Yer  Life,  335 

Cocaine  Lil,  206 

Colorado  Trail,  The,  462 

Common  Bill,  62 

Coo-Coo,  237 

Coon  Can,  310 

Crazy  Song  to  the  Air  of  "Dixie,"  342 

Cuckoo  Waltz,  160 

Dakota  Land,  280 

Dead  Horse,  The,  406 

De  Blues  Ain'  Nothin',  234 

Dese  Bones  Gwine  to  Rise  Again,  470 

De  Titanic,  254 

Did  You  Ever,  Ever,  Ever?  329 

Dis  Mornin',  Dis  Evenin',  So  Soon,  18 

Don'  Let  Yo'  Watch  Run  Down,  370 

Down,  Down  Deny  Down,  118 

Down  in  the  Valley,  148 

Dreary  Black  Hills,  The,  264 

Driving  Saw-logs  on  the  Plover,  396 


Drivin'  Steel,  150 

Drunkard's  Doom,  The.  104 

Dying  Hogger,  The,  186 

Early  Mornings,  293 

El  Abandonado,  295 

El-a-noy,  162 

E-ri-e,  The.  180 

Erie  Canal,  The,  171 

Ever  Since  Uncle  John  Henry  Been  Dead,  376 

Ezekiel,  You  and  Me,  488 

Fair  Annie  of  Lochyran,  99 

Fair  Eleanor,  156 

Farmer,  The,  282 

Filipino  Hombre,  A,  434 

Fireman  Save  My  Child,  208 

Flat  River  Girl,  392 

Foggy,  Foggy  Dew,  14 

Fond  Affection,  323 

Frankie  and  Albert,  75 

Frankie  and  Johnny,  78 

Frankie  Blues,  82 

Frozen  Girl,  The,  58 

Gamboling  Man,  The,  313 

Give  Me  Three  Grains  of  Corn,  Mother,  41 

Go  Bring  Me  Back  My  Blue-Eyed  Boy,  324 

God's  Coin*  to  Set  This  World  on  Fire.  478 

Go  Get  the  Ax,  332 

Goin'  Down  to  Town,  145 

Good  Boy,  The,  203 

Good-by  Liza  Jane,  51 

Good-bye,  Brother,  477 

Got  Dem  Blues,  232 

Go  to  Sleepy,  454 

Go  'Way  Fom  Mali  Window,  377 

Great  Gawd,  I'm  Fcclin'  Bad,  238 

Greenfields,  154 

Greens,  347 

Gypsy  Davy,  811 

Half  Horse  and  Half  Alligator,  427 

Hallelujah,  I'm  a  Bum!  184 

Hammer  Man,  139 

Handsome  Young  Airman,  The,  436 

Hanging  Out  the  Linen  Clothes,  117 

Hangman,  385 

Hayseed,  50 

Hearse  Song,  The,  444 

Heave  Away,  407 

Hello,  Girls,  128 

He's  Gone  Away,  3 

Hey  Betty  Martin,  158 

Highbridge,  155 

Hinky  Dinky,  Parlee-Voo,  440 

Hog-eye,  380 

Hog-eye  Man,  The,  410 

Hoosen  Johnny,  164 

Horse  Named  Bill,  The,  340 


498 


INDEX 


House  Carpenter,  The,  00 

Hundred  Year*  Ago,  A,  485 

Hunters  of  Kentucky,  The,  427 

I  Catch-a  da  Plenty  of  F«*5sh,  400 

I  Don't  Like  No  Railroad  Man,  826 

I  Don't  Want  to  Be  a  Gambler,  405 

I  Drearrn-d  Last  Night  of  My  True  Love,  140 

If  I  Die  a  Railroad  Man,  302 

I  Found  a  How  Shoe,  88* 

I  Got  a  Gal  at  the  Head  of  the  Holler,  320 

I  Got  a  Letter  from  Jesus,  487 

I  Know  Moonlight,  451 

I  M<*t  Her  in  the  Garden  Where  the  Pratica  Grow,  403 

I'm  Sad  and  Pin  Lonely,  243 

In  De  Vinter  Time,  334 

In  My  Father's  House,  483 

In  the  Days  of  Old  Rame*»,  20* 

I  Ride  an  Old  Paint,  12 

Irish  Lullaby,  30 

It'H  the  Syme  the  Whole  World  Over,  200 

I  Was  Born  AlmoMt  Ten  Thousand  Year*  Ago,  330 

I  Went  Down  to  the  Depot,  374 

I  Wish  I  Was  a  Little  Bird,  338 

I  Wish  I  Was  Single  Again,  47 

Jackson.  430 

Jam  on  Gerry's  Roek,  The,  394 

James  Wlialarul,  380 

Jay  Gould's  Daughter,  304 

Jerry,  Go  an'  He  That  Car,  360 

Jesse  James,  4*20 

Jesus,  Won't  You  Coino  B'm-By?  409 

Jim  Fink,  410 

Joe  Turner,  241 

John  B.  Sails,  The,  2* 

John  Henry,  *4 

Jotue,  84 

Jungle  Mammy  Song,  455 

Kansas  Boys.  129 

Kentucky  Moonsluner,  142 

Kevin  Barry,  42 

Kind  Miss,  144 

Kinkaiders,  The.  278 

La  Cuearacha,  289 

Lane  County  Baehelor,  The,  120 

I/eave  Her,  Bullies,  Leave  Her,  412 

legacy.  155 

Levee  Moan,  225 

Lincoln  and  Liberty,  107 

Little  Ah  Sid,  270 

Little  Old  Sod  Shanty,  The,  89 

Little  Scotch-ee,  64 

Liza  in  the  Summer  Time,  308 

Liza  Jane,  132 

London  City,  324 

Lonesome  Road,  322 

Ix>nc  Star  Trail,  The,  206 

Lo  Que  Digo,  294 

Lord  Lovel,  70 


Lover's  Lament,  The,  126 

Love  Somebody,  Yes  I  Do,  140 

Lydia  Pinkham,  210 

Mag's  Song,  310 

Maid  Freed  from  the  Gallows,  The,  72 

Mama  Have  You  Heard  the  News?  368 

Mafianitas  (de  Jalisco),  292 

Man  Goin*  Roun',  447 

Mary  Had  a  William  Goat,  330 

Mary  Wore  Three  Links  of  Chain,  474 

Mexican  Cockroach  Song,  289 

Midnight  Special,  20 

Midnight  Special  (2),  217 

Midnight  Train,  The,  325 

Missouri  Harmony,  The,  152 

Mister  Frog  Went  A-courting,  143 

Moanish  Lady,  11 

Money,  112 

Monkey's  Wedding,  The,  113 

Moonlight,  210 

Morrissey  and  the  Russian  Sailor,  398 

Mountain  Top,  133 

Mule  Skinner  s  Song,  400 

My  Lulu,  378 

My  Old  Huinniah.  457 

My  Pretty  Little  Pink,  100 

My  Sister  She  Works  in  a  Laundry,  381 

Negro  Reel,  184 

No  Broad  for  the  Poor,  319 

No  More  Booze,  208 

O  Bury  Me  Beneath  the  Willow,  314 

Oh,  Bury  Me  Not  on  the  Lone  Prairie,  20 

Old  Abe  Lincoln  Came  Out  of  the  Wilderness,  108 

Old  Adam,  339 

Old  Brass  Wagon,  159 

Old  Gray  Mare,  102 

O  My  Honey,  Take  Me  Back,  239 

One  Morning  in  May,  136 

Orphan  Girl,  The,  319 

On  the  Charlie  So  Long,  304 

On  to  the  Morgues  199 

Peacock  Song,  237 

Pharaoh's  Army  Got  Drownded,  476 

IV  Boy,  30 

Poor  Boy,  310 

Pcx>r  Kitty  Popcorn,  431 

Poor  Lonesome  Cowboy,  273 

Poor  Paddy  Works  on  the  Railway,  856 

Poor  Working  Girl,  The,  195 

Portland  County  Jail,  214 

Post-rail  Song,  138 

Preacher  and  the  Slave,  The,  222 

Pretty  Fair  Maid,  A,  68 

Pretty  Polly,  60 

Prisoner's  Song,  The,  216 

Quaker's  Wooing,  The,  71 

Rabble  Soldier,  284 


494 


INDEX 


Raging  Canawl,  178 

Railroad  Bill,  384 

Railroad  Cars  Arc  Coming,  The,  358 

Red  Iron  Ore,  176 

Red  River  Valley,  130 

Roll  the  Chariot,  196 

RosieNell.  114 

Roving  Gambler,  The,  312 

Sadie,  86 

Sam  Boss,  422 

Satan's  a  Liah,  250 

Sergeant,  He  Is  the  Worst  of  All,  The,  435 

Seven  Long  Years  in  State  Prison,  218 

Shanty-Man's  Life,  The.  890 

She  Died  on  the  Train,  308 

Shell  Be  Comin'  Round  Hie  Mountain,  372 

She  Promised  She'd  Meet  Me,  207 

She  Said  the  Same  to  Me,  38 

Ship  That  Never  Returned,  The,  146 

Shovclliu'  Iron  Ore,  183 

Sh-Ta-Ra-Dah-Dey,  36 

Si  Ilubbard,  350 

Somebody,  464 

Son  of  a  Gamlx>licr.  The,  44 

Sourwood  Mountain.  125 

Staiidin*  on  the  Walls  of  Zion,  484 

Sucking  Cider  Through  a  Straw,  829 

Sweet  Betsy  from  Pike,  107 

Tenderfoot,  The,  274 

Ten  Thousand  Miles  Away,  100 

Ten  Thousand  Miles  away  from  Homo,  456 

There's  Many  a  Man  Killed  on  the  Railroad,  371 

There  Was  an  Old  Soldier,  432 

Things  I  Used  to  Do,  482 

Those  Gambler's  Blues,  228 

Timber,  386 

Times  Gettin*  Hard,  Boys,  242 

Trail  to  Mexico,  The,  285 

Trump,  Tramp,  Tramp,  Keep  on  A-tramping,  185 


Troubled  Soldier,  The,  1S7 

True  Lover's  Farewell,  The,  98 

Turkey  in  the  Straw,  94 

Two  White  Horses,  472 

Versos  de  Montalgo,  302 

Waillie,  Waillie!  16 

Walky-Talky  Jenny,  48 

Wanderin'.  188 

War  Bird's  Burlesque,  A,  438 

Way  Over  in  the  New  Bury  in*  GromV,  473 

Way  Up  on  Clinch  Mountain,  307 

We  Are  Four  Bums,  192 

Weaver,  The,  400 

Weevily  Wheat.  101 

What  Kin*  (V  Pants  DOOH  the  Gambler  Wear?  240 

What  Was  Your  Name  in  the  States?  100 

When  a  Woman  Blue,  23« 

When  I  Was  Young  and  Foolish,  219 

When  Poor  Mary  Came  Wandering  Home,  400 

When  the  Curtains  of  Night  Are  Pinned  Back,  259 

When  the  Work's  All  Done  This  Fall,  200 

Where  O  Where  Is  Old  Elijah?  92 

Where  They  Were,  442 

Whisky  Johnny.  403 

Wh(x>pee  Ti  Yi  Yo,  Git  Along  Little  Dogies,  268 

Who's  the  Pretty  Girl  Milkin*  the  Cow?  40 

Who  Will  Shoe  Your  Pretty  Little  Foot?  98 

Wide  Mizzoura,  The,  408 

Willy  the  Weeper,  204 

Wind  It  Blew  up  the  Railroad  Track,  The,  379 

Windsor.  153 

Wizard  Oil,  52 

Worthington,  154 

Wrap  Me  up  in  My  Tarpaulin  Jacket,  430 

Yonder  Comes  My  Pretty  Little  Girl,  313 

Yonder  Comes  the  High  Sheriff,  213 

You  Fight  On,  248 

You  Got  to  Cross  It  foh  Yohself,  480 

Zek'l  Weep,  419 


495